The Lerteiran Chronicles
by 2Distracted
Summary: It's episode 15: The crew of Enterprise goes hunting for Damin, a confrontation is in store at Woodhaven House, and it's finally time for a wedding… or two.  The concluding episode of the Lerteiran Chronicles.
1. Chapter 1a

**The Lerteiran Chronicles **

**Episode One: Into the Lion's Den**

**By Blacknblue and Distracted**

**Genre: Action Adventure and just a tad of romance (eventually)**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Disclaimer: This all started in Blacknblue's fertile brain, and he invited Distracted along for the ride. The Star Trek universe and all previously seen characters belong to Paramount. All of the original stuff belongs to us, but we're just having fun. This is a strictly not-for-profit partnership.**

**Summary: This is Episode One, in which we meet our intrepid hero and his crewmates, discover more than we ever wanted to know about the business practices of brothels within the Orion Syndicate, and learn why it is a phenomenally bad idea to piss off a Vulcan.**

##################################

Daniel stepped off the escalating downramp carefully, looking closely at the crowd as he moved along the edge of the main promenade. The back of his neck itched, always a sure sign of trouble coming. Unfortunately, the subdued colors of his quarry's hooded robe blended into the crowd and disappeared. Daniel kept his eyes flickering back and forth, trying to catch a glimpse with his peripheral vision, but no luck.

He had spotted the guy shortly after leaving the _Lerteiran _ and for some reason alarm bells went off. There was just no "logical" reason for a Vulcan to be wandering around on a trading station this deep inside Syndicate territory, especially a Vulcan who was so obviously trying to conceal his species. Only his walk betrayed him. And only then to someone who was familiar with the distance-eating stride of a Vulcan with somewhere to go.

Jenrali had told him to relax. _"Vulcans buy things too,"_ the grizzled Andorian had told him. It was hard to tell for sure over the communicator, but Daniel thought he'd sounded a touch amused. _"Even those self-righteous priests of theirs have been known to flavor their tea with a pinch of kotara petals on occasion."_

"What about that D'Kyr we spotted on the other side of the Horn nebula?" Daniel had demanded. "It was just sitting there. You telling me that you believe the Vulcans sent a heavy cruiser out here for a load of spices?"

"_I think they were scanning for Intel on the greenskins,"_ his captain had told him. _"Or maybe they were looking for the one you spotted. Either way it's none of our business, boy. We need to finish getting rid of this ale and load up on those grav plates. It's a seventeen day run to Alembra and we only have twenty days until our contract runs out. One blown injector and we are frozen. Get moving!"_

Daniel had snorted and closed the communicator. Jenrali seldom took Daniel's hunches seriously. Not until he had been proven right, anyway. He was even more sure when the Vulcan noticed that he was under observation almost instantly and started taking evasive action like a professional. Daniel whispered a curse and concentrated on staying within eyesight without being blatant about it. He held on until they got to the main promenade.

Daniel's gut tightened. Jenrali was right about one thing. They needed to get loaded and get out of here. Cold chills were running up his back and a sense of looming disaster hung over his head. Daniel shook off his foreboding and turned his feet in the direction of Grigor-Tel's apartments.

The grotesquely fat Orion was in his usual expansive mood. "Welcome! Welcome, my young friend! Please come in and make yourself comfortable!" he boomed, and gestured broadly at the thick cushions that covered the floor of his greeting area. The Nausican guards that stood with their backs to the outer wall, spaced around the perimeter of the circular room at regular intervals, glowered at Daniel with generic dissatisfaction. They hated everyone equally.

Daniel suppressed a grimace. There was no help for it. Orion custom demanded that they go through the ritual of eating, drinking, and at least the offering of entertainment before business could be discussed. It was difficult enough getting a reasonable deal out of an Orion, especially when both of your partners were Andorian, without deliberately insulting their customs on top of it.

Daniel edged into the room and found a cushion as close to the doorway as courtesy allowed. He sat himself down at an angle that let him keep an eye on both the door and the Nausicans. The phase pistol in the small of his back was cold comfort against the five of them. Or six, if you counted Grigor-Tel. Daniel figured it might be a mistake to underestimate the Orion, potbelly or no potbelly. The kukri knife that Daniel carried strapped to his hip was more of a fashion accessory than anything else. Every adult male on the station carried a blade of some type as a matter of course. But in a serious fight, Daniel doubted that he would have time to draw it, much less get in a cut.

The meal was up to typical Orion standards - too big, too rich, too spicy, and mostly indigestible. Drinks included everything from Terran champagne to Andorian ale to Klingon blood wine. Grigor-Tel kept up an amusing litany of jokes and stories about recent events in the Orion Syndicate, along with a smattering of gossip about recent events outside. Daniel was mildly interested to learn that Earth was trying to broker a four way alliance between Humans, Vulcans, Andorians, and Tellarites.

"What would you think of such an arrangement, my young friend?" Grigor-Tel asked him. The tone was carefully casual, but a tight gleam in his eye informed Daniel that the question carried more weight than the Orion wanted to acknowledge.

Daniel shrugged. "I wish them good luck, but I can't say that I expect much. Vulcans and Andorians have been at each other's throats for too long. Not to speak of Andorians and Tellarites. We Humans can get along with just about anyone," he forced a reasonably sincere looking grin and took another sip of Dom Perignon. "But that's because we haven't been out here long enough to make any real enemies. I wouldn't look for this new alliance anytime in the near future."

Grigor-Tel relaxed almost imperceptibly and nodded. His smile looked happier and more relaxed as he replied, "I am afraid I must agree, my young friend. It is unlikely that your shipmates will be welcomed with open arms on Vulcan within any of our lifetimes."

"Well," Daniel said, before draining his glass, "that's just the way life is sometimes. And as much as it pains me to depart your superb hospitality, another reality of life is that our schedule is pretty tight on this run. If we can finish up our contract I will be on my way."

"But Daniel, my boy, you wound me." Grigor-Tel held up his hand. "You have not even sampled the evening's entertainment."

Daniel growled internally. He had nursed fond hopes of escaping this time. He absolutely did not feel like sitting through another two to three hour marathon of whatever the Orion considered high art. Last time it had been jugglers and tumblers. The time before that, it was beast fighting - with the big event being a match between a Denebian Slime Devil and a Nausican Rock Creeper. The time before that it was a singer from Therak with a voice like a howling coyote suffering from terminal laryngitis.

At least there wouldn't be any Orion women. That issue had been settled between Jenrali and Grigor-Tel over weapon points many years before Daniel ever saw the station.

"Your entertainers are always unique and memorable," Daniel told him truthfully. "But if I don't tend to business soon, my partners may decide that I am more of a liability than an asset." He left the implications unspoken. In the Syndicate, some things did not need to be spelled out.

Actually Daniel wasn't worried that Jenrali would shoot him or even kick him off the ship, much less Sehlra, although she might growl at him for dawdling and smack him upside the head. But Grigor-Tel didn't need to know that.

The big Orion sighed melodramatically. "Ah, the impatience of youth." He smiled broadly. "I do understand, my young friend. I was lean and hungry once myself, if you can believe it. But you should not be so fervently trapped in the effort to garner the good things of life that you forget to enjoy them as you go along." He laughed and clapped his hands twice, loudly. "I have something to show you. I think it will teach you that some things deserve to be savored."

A hidden doorway at the back of the room slid aside, and a tall woman with olive skin stepped into the room. She wore dancer's sandals, cross-strapped above the ankle, a brief thong, and a semi-translucent scarf-type wrap that covered her breasts. The trailing end of the wrap then rose up to form a hooded veil over her features. Her hair was coarse and dark black, short enough to be almost hidden by the head wrapping. The woman's figure was slim, without a trace of body fat, but in no way could she be called gaunt. Tight, hard muscle covered her delicate bones from head to foot.

She stepped through the doorway and paused while the door whispered shut behind her. Grigor-Tel gestured and she began to walk toward them, moving effortlessly in the slightly higher than Earth normal gravity. Daniel stared, transfixed. Her artless movements were painfully familiar. Only one race that he knew of habitually walked with that graceful combination of speed, balance, and precision. Bile rose up in his throat.

"_No! Holy fraking shit! Please, no!"_

"Come here my dear," Grigor-Tel told her. "Come stand by me and let my young friend satisfy his hungry eyes with your beauty." She obediently walked over to stand beside the Orion, who put his meaty hand on her thigh and turned her to face Daniel.

"Is she not exquisite?" Grigor-Tel crooned. He ran his hand along the woman's leg from the top of her thigh to mid-calf and back again, while she stood immobile. "I fear you would lose consciousness from pure shock if I told you what she cost me."

Daniel was rather in danger of losing consciousness from pure fear. He hoped that his saucer-eyed stare would be interpreted as lustful admiration. Daniel licked his lips twice and managed to croak out, "She certainly is. May I see her face?"

"A rare privilege, my young friend." Grigor-Tel's copious belly shook with silent laughter. "Few indeed are the ones who have been permitted to gaze upon the loveliness that graces my sleeping chamber at night. But you remind me of myself at your age. I think for you I will make an exception."

The Orion turned his head slightly and snapped a quick order in guttural Nausican. His guides put on identical expressions of longsuffering irritation and turned to face the wall. Grigor-Tel looked up and purred, "Now my dear, drop your veil and dazzle my young friend with your loveliness. But only for a brief moment. We don't want to blind him." He smiled.

The dancing girl slowly lifted one hand and unhooked the side of her face covering, lowering it carefully. Daniel felt his heart lurch and start hammering its way out of his chest while his mouth became parched. Above her delicately pointed chin the woman's jaw line swept up to frame boldly defined cheekbones. Her full lips thrust proudly below the flaring nostrils of her straight nose. Coal black eyes watched him with laser intensity. Above them, long straight eyebrows swept outward and upward diagonally toward her hairline. Just above the slave collar, with its two glowing controller units at the sides of her throat, a pair of elfin ears rose to pronounced peaks through the tangle of her hair.

Daniel could see her nose quiver and realized that fear stink must be pouring off him in waves. _"We are dead. We are all dog meat. They won't even bother to interrogate us - just fry us where we stand. Everyone on this station and anywhere near it is dog meat." _ He forcefully cleared his throat and spoke aloud, "Vulcan?" It came out weaker than he had intended, almost a whisper.

Grigor-Tel chuckled and motioned to the woman to replace her veil. "Indeed, my young friend. She was a young Vulcan crew member from one of their colony ships that ventured into the fringes of our territory. She was in training actually, on her first deep space voyage." He glanced up with proprietary fondness. "Since arriving here she has been receiving training of a far more useful nature."

Daniel's heart stopped. His brain stopped. His breathing stopped. All time and existence froze around him for a timeless interval. Then the precious relief shattered and he heard himself blurt out in a high pitched voice, "Colony ship? You have more of them?"

Grigor-Tel threw back his head and laughed in delight at the look on Daniel's face. "But of course, my young friend. Not all of them here on this station, naturally. But yes, we kept all of the women, and all of the children that were young enough to be trainable." He didn't bother to mention what had happened to the Vulcan men, and the children that were nearly grown. The answer was self-evident.

Daniel felt a tic on the side of his face begin to twitch. "I confess to being surprised, Grigor-Tel," he said, still struggling to regain a semblance of calm. "She certainly is beautiful. But I would have expected you to prefer someone more... excitable? I have never tried one personally, you understand. But the rumors I hear in the taverns report that sex with a Vulcan is much like riding a dead fish."

The Orion snorted in contempt. "Ignorant amateurs. They simply do not understand how to ignite the fire that smolders within such lovely creatures. Look at her," he commanded. "Can you not see the hot coals glowing in her eyes? The heat is there, ready to be fanned into flame. One simply requires the proper tinder."

"What tinder would that be?" Daniel asked him, confused. Grigor-Tel's eye's gleamed. He reached into his vest pocket and drew out an ampoule, appropriate for affixing onto the end of a hypospray.

"This, my young friend. This is the tinder that will fan those smoldering coals into blazing life," the Orion told him. The woman stiffened slightly but made no sound. Daniel noticed her eyes following the ampoule. She ignored Grigor-Tel's groping hand on her leg, the staring eyes of the Nausican's guards, and her master's Human guest. But the sight of the ampoule started her shivering slightly.

Daniel spoke carefully. "A drug?"

"Not precisely," Grigor-Tel told him smugly. "A microbe. Ironically, it was the Vulcans themselves who gave us the key to unlock their secret. It was in the medical database aboard the colony ship. Did you know that Vulcans go into a mating season every seven of their years?"

"Yes, I knew that," Daniel told him evenly. "They call it the Pon Farr." The woman's head jerked back to stare at him. Daniel thought he detected angry surprise, quickly masked.

Grigor-Tel nodded. "It seems that a Denobulan physician recently discovered a marsupial on some obscure planet that carries a certain microbe. Vulcans who are infected with this microbe are triggered into Pon Farr. And best of all, my young friend," Grigor-Tel paused triumphantly, "Once the microbe is purged from their system they will fully recover in a single day. Since Pon Farr is a natural process for Vulcans, there is no long term damage to the slave and hence, no limit to the number and frequency of the applications. Natolya's brothel is currently offering the services of two Vulcans -by special appointment only of course, and triple fees - and she cannot keep up with the demand."

Daniel locked his jaws. He couldn't, he absolutely could not puke all over Grigor-Tel's shoes. He would be dead before he got halfway to the door. The young Human closed his eyes and took several deep breaths through his nose. Once he got his stomach settled a bit he opened his eyes to find his host watching him with interest.

"Are you all right?" Grigor-Tel asked him with a slight edge to his voice.

"Sure," Daniel told him with false heartiness. "I am just intrigued. I don't suppose you would consider letting me borrow her for a few hours?" He mentally crossed his fingers. If they could smuggle one of the girls out of here and make it past the perimeter pickets, it might buy them back their lives.

The Orion broke out in helpless laughter. He fell back against his cushions and held his gut as he laughed himself breathless. Finally he managed to gasp out, "Bold and opportunistic, like all your people. Small wonder that your race has come so far so fast. You truly do remind me of myself when I was your age, my young friend. But no, I must regretfully refuse your request. No one touches my new pet but myself. Yet I respect your unmitigated gall in asking!" He continued to chuckle and wiped tears of mirth from his eyes.

His words gave Daniel the opening he needed. "Well, in that case," Daniel stood up, "since you mentioned my race, I suppose you are aware that when it comes to mating we are ..."

"Somewhat enthusiastic yourselves. Yes, I have heard of your reputation." The Orion grinned. "The Vulcan database was full of references to Human sexual obsession, some of them actually rather amazing. If half of it is true, I must salute you."

Daniel coughed into his hand in a self-deprecating manner. "Anyway. For some reason I find myself feeling stimulated." Grigor-Tel chuckled. Daniel went on, "... and I'm hoping that if I can finish up with business in time I might be able to squeeze in a quick visit to Natolya's myself. Not the Vulcans, of course, I don't have time or money for that. But her usual girls are plenty good enough for me."

"I understand," Grigor-Tel waved a hand dismissively. "Forgive me, Daniel. I did not intend to frustrate you. I can only imagine how dangling such a tidbit in front of a starving man and then snatching it back from him must have felt. By all means, go. Your loading authorizations will be waiting for you at the docking port."

Daniel glanced at the Vulcan one more time and caught her eye. He deliberately closed one eye for a moment, and then opened it again. Then he turned and walked out without looking back. Would she recognize a Human wink? Would she understand the significance of it? Never mind, he had other things to worry about.

Daniel managed to keep a poker face until he reached the promenade. Then he picked up his pace and broke into a trot. Snatching out his communicator, he barked, "Lock down! Lock down and light the fire! We have to get out of here!"

"_What's going on boy? What's got you shivering so bad?"_

"I'll tell you when I get there," Daniel said. "Just do it. We have to get out of here. Now."

"_Did you get the loading authorization?"_

"Shit on the cargo! Money is useless to a corpse," Daniel snapped. "Have Sehlra get us ready to go to warp as soon as we clear the system. _Away_ from the Horn Nebula. Just do it. I will tell you everything as soon as I get there. Out."

Daniel ran up the rising escalator ramp at full speed, ducked around the decorative statuary that cluttered the station's observation deck, and pelted down the main passageway to docking port number 17.

Jenrali was waiting impatiently by the airlock when Daniel finished cycling through. "All right boy, talk."

Daniel launched himself toward the control room in the 0.4 gee that they customarily maintained on the ship to save fuel. "Are we ready to leave?" he asked anxiously.

"We're ready, but we're not going anywhere until you tell me what this is about," Jenrali snapped, out of patience. Sehlra stuck her head up through the access hatch leading down into engineering.

"He's right, child. Calm down and tell us what's going on." Her wrinkled face, framed by snow-white hair, had always brought back vague memories of Daniel's great-grandmother, especially in cases like this, where she was trying to be patient with him and failing.

Daniel turned to face both of them. "I know why that D'Kyr cruiser is out here, and why that Vulcan spy is on the station. The Orions captured a Vulcan colony ship. They are trading the women as concubines and prostitutes. Grigor-Tel showed me one that he bought for his personal use," he told them breathlessly.

"_**REKLOQ!"**_ Jenrali spat out a curse with a disgusted expression on his face, dove for the helm and started initiating the docking separation sequence. Sehlra simply let go of the rungs of the access ladder and let the 0.4 gee carry her back down two levels to the engineering room. Daniel got busy on navigation.

The ship shuddered and bumped; then they were free. Jenrali turned the bow away from the station and applied the thrusters at full force. As the _Lerteiran _ pulled clear of the station's deflector shields Daniel activated the long range scanners.

"Uh-oh," he said ominously. Jenrali turned his head.

"What does that mean, boy? You only make that noise when there's bad news."

"Incoming," Daniel intoned in a dull monotone. "From the direction of the Horn Nebula. Closing on the station at warp 6.6. ETA 14 minutes."

"The D'Kyr?"

"Too far to tell yet. But what else out here can do 6.6?"

"Sehlra!" Jenrali turned to yell down the hatch. "Prepare for warp 4!"

"In that case," the answer came echoing back up the ladder, "prepare for core breach. I keep telling you Jenrali, you are not in the Guard anymore, and this is not an iceworm-begotten battleship. Warp 3.5 is the best we can do unless you want to risk becoming a new star!"

"Would you rather face Vulcan justice?" Jenrali snarled back with his eyes on the controls again.

A pause. "Good point. I will see what I can do."

"We didn't actually break any Vulcan laws," Daniel pointed out hopefully. "Maybe we could talk our way out of this."

"Maybe you could," Jenrali grunted. "They might just ship you back home and let your own people deal with you. But Sehlra and I are finished if they catch us. Doesn't matter what we did or didn't do. We are Andorian. For the Vulcans, that's enough crime to warrant summary execution without trial."

Daniel's face tightened and he turned back to the navigation console. A moment later Sehlra's voice came echoing up the stairwell, "Ready down here." Jenrali glanced over to Daniel and nodded. Both men grabbed their consoles and braced themselves, and then Jenrali activated the warp drive. The battered old ship split the fabric of space-time and fell into subspace like a dropped rock. She hit bottom hard. She always did.

Daniel picked himself up off the deck and crawled back into his seat. "Still closing at warp 6.6. Adjusted ETA to the station now six minutes." He listened to the earphone he wore. "The station is demanding identification. They are not getting a response."

"How astonishing," Jenrali muttered. "Warp 1.5. Warp 2. Now warp 2.3, warp 2.6, warp 2.8, warp 3." The ship continued to accelerate and the howl from the engine continued to sound more and more erratic. The deck plates were vibrating hard enough to shake Daniel's teeth together.

An alarm started flashing on Daniel's board. "Oh shit! A second contact. Bearing 189 mark 3x by 36 mark 4.7y. Closing at warp 5. On us."

"Secure for evasive maneuvering," Jenrali snapped. Daniel locked his legs around the pedestal of his chair and grabbed the console with one hand. With the other hand he continued to operate his controls as best he could.

Jenrali threw the ship into a series of spiraling turns that overpowered the inertial dampers. Daniel felt a giant hand reach down and yank him upwards, then twist him in two directions at once, then slam him back down in the chair. Hard. "Oof!" He breathed hard for a moment and then reported, "Still right on our tail. Closing fast."

Jenrali was steadily growling something under his breath. Daniel did not bother to ask what it was. He was pretty sure that he didn't want to know, anyway. An odd reading on his board caught Daniel's attention and he leaned forward for a closer look.

"Uh-oh."

"Now what?"

"I think they may be charging weapons."

Daniel transferred the data feed to the main viewscreen, where a diagram of the local star field was replaced by a composite picture of the scanning data. In the center of the screen, a computer generated real time reproduction of the pursuing ship took form. The ring shaped nacelle was distinctively Vulcan. A quick flicker of light formed and flashed at the front of the image.

A war god's hammer smashed into the side of _Lerteiran,_ throwing Jenrali across the bridge and slamming Daniel's face down onto the console. He painfully pushed himself back up to a sitting position. His nose was pounded completely flat, and both lips were split open and pouring blood.

"Yeah," he said, breathing strictly through his mouth, "I'm pretty sure they were charging weapons."

With a gut churning lurch, _Lerteiran_ twisted herself and everyone aboard her inside out and popped back into normal space. Or at least that was what it felt like to Daniel.

"Starboard nacelle is dead," Sehlra announced up the access hatch. "We are leaking plasma and half the control circuits are shot."

"How long can we continue on impulse?" Jenrali pushed himself painfully back to his feet.

"Until we melt down. About five minutes. We are also leaking coolant. I'm sorry boys. We are dead in the pack ice." Her voice sounded weary and defeated.

Daniel sat up straight. "Ready weapons?" he asked nasally, sniffing as he tried to staunch his nosebleed with his sleeve.

Jenrali snorted and looked at him. "You would, wouldn't you boy? You really would load weapons and go out fighting." A shadow passed over his face. "There was a day when I would have, too." He shook his head tiredly. "There is no point in it. No need for you to die. Even if they execute us, you can probably live."

"If they kill you two and leave me alive, they will regret it," Daniel vowed, his bloody teeth bared in a grimace. Jenrali looked at him and slowly began to smile.

The ship jerked suddenly, and then settled into a steady trembling as a tractor beam took hold. A harsh crackle of static came through the communication system, then a flat voice ordered, "Attention occupants of the Andorian vessel. You are being taken into custody by the Vulcan government. If you do not resist, you will not be harmed. If you resist, you will be killed without mercy. Stand by to be boarded."

#

The intoxicating strains of Orion dance music played within the dim and fragrant antechamber. On a stage against one wall, barely dressed emerald-skinned females writhed to the beat, adding to the ambience of the popular establishment known only by the name of the madam who'd founded it over a hundred standard years before... Natolya's. Although its namesake was long deceased, the victim of an over zealous creditor, the station's famous tourist attraction was still a popular destination in Syndicate space for weary space travelers desiring the most enjoyable evening money could buy. The middle-aged Orion female whose word was law within the establishment's hallowed halls had once borne another name, but for the past 30 years she'd been Natolya in every way that mattered.

Business was brisk that evening, and her eyes roamed the reception hall. For a modest cover charge, prospective clients were allowed into the hall and treated to the very best in drink and finger food delicacies from throughout the quadrant. Further services, of course, incurred further charges.

Her girls and boys, some with control collars and some trustworthy enough to go without, stood on display, interacting politely with the guests. Physical contact was forbidden in the reception hall, but guests would inevitably break this rule. Natolya was more lenient with some than with others. There were impassive Nausican guards stationed against the walls who were charged with the task of stepping in if things got out of hand.

A few of the slaves on display wore elaborately designed gowns cut to display their assets, or well-tailored dress coats with ruffled shirts and form-fitting trousers—all with cleverly designed seams for easy removal. Others wore leather harnesses and spiked collars or filmy negligees that left very little to the imagination. Still others wore nothing at all. Natolya prided herself on providing something for almost every taste, which was the main reason why the noisy altercation occurring in the entrance hall came as a surprise. She walked toward it briskly, putting a professionally polite smile on her face.

"I want my money back!" the grizzled, scarred and very inebriated Andorian insisted loudly. "There's no naked Vulcan here, and that's what I came to see!" He wove on his feet and nearly fell. One of the Nausican bouncers stepped forward and grabbed him by the neck of his coverall.

"You had your fun, Andorian...but it's time to go now," he growled softly. The Andorian swung at him, but the Nausican just held him out at arm's length, looking bored. Natolya sighed. The old drunk was a regular whenever business took him in-system. He usually paid the cover, drank a lot, ate a little, copped a feel, and left. She'd assumed he was either lacking sufficient funds or too miserly to pay for more. She'd left him alone until now because she knew he'd make a scene if asked to leave, and he was harmless enough. His mouth was about to get them all into serious trouble, though. How had he heard about the Vulcans?

"Kethat," Natolya purred, smiling indulgently and slipping her arm around the Andorian's waist, half embracing and half supporting him, "Come with me, my dear!" she said, leading him toward the door to her office in the rear of the room.

The Andorian blinked blearily up at her, and then smiled, his eyes glassing over even more as her pheromones began to do their work on his higher cortical functions. Fortunately, he was drunk enough not to mind the fact that she was easily thirty years older than the slaves on display.

"Mistress Natolya!" he slurred happily. "You're here!" His head bobbled a bit as he turned a disapproving glance toward the impassive Nausican behind them. "Tell this spoiler of deserved rewards that I should get my money back unless I get to see a naked Vmmmphum..." Natolya placed long emerald fingers over his lips, muffling the rest of his drunken demands.

"I'm certain we can work something out, Kethat," she hastily interrupted, turning him away from the Nausican's glower toward her destination. They were only a meter from the door when a quiet voice spoke from behind her.

"Are you Natolya, the property under Orion law of one Grigor-Tel?"

Natolya clenched her teeth. She detested being reminded of her legal status as a slave. "Who wants to know?" she growled, turning abruptly with the hapless Andorian hanging on her shoulder for dear life. The sight that met her eyes made her jaw drop and her heart skip a beat.

A slim male figure stood before her wearing a hooded cape over a nondescript grey coverall. He was physically unimpressive. His back was to the room, and he lifted both hands to raise the hood slightly from his face. Beneath the edges of the garment she could see straight brows angling upward and a set of pointed ears.

The Andorian's eyes widened. "You're a...!" he managed to exclaim before a lean, muscular hand gripped his shoulder at the base of his neck and he fell suddenly silent, collapsing limply into Natolya's arms.

The Vulcan reached out and caught the drunken Andorian with ease while Natolya stood gaping at him. "Inside," he ordered briskly, jerking his chin to indicate the office behind her. She looked over his shoulder at the reception hall. No one had taken notice of him, or if they had they evidently believed him to be a generous minded customer offering help with the Andorian who'd finally passed out from too much drink. The Vulcan shifted the Andorian to one arm with little apparent effort and pulled out a small phase pistol, pointing it at her while shielding it from prying eyes with his body.

"Inside," he repeated flatly. His expression remained unchanged, but she didn't let his mild manner fool her. She knew he'd shoot if she gave him away. There was no logical reason not to.

She backed up into the office, retreating to the back wall as he shut the door behind him and deposited the Andorian on the plush settee set opposite her desk. She inched her way toward the desk, trying to reach the alarm installed beneath it. The Vulcan turned to face her and matter-of-factly holstered his weapon.

"Before you set off any alarms, I suggest that you listen to what I have to say," he began reasonably. "My name is Senek. I am an officer within the Vulcan Ministry of Intelligence."

Natolya froze. This was considerably more serious than she'd originally thought. When Grigor-Tel had insisted she train his new slaves in the arts of pleasure, he'd told her that there was no way the slaves could be traced to her through official Vulcan channels. He was obviously as stupid as he looked. She'd always suspected that to be the case.

"There are two Vulcan battle cruisers scheduled to arrive in this system within the hour," continued Senek. "Your master has committed crimes against Vulcan for which he and this entire outpost must answer. You should know that as the property of an enemy of the Vulcan people, you will not be held responsible for past actions. These are legally the responsibility of your owner."

Natolya smiled wryly despite herself. At least there was one benefit to being property. The Vulcan raised a brow.

"Once the Security Directorate takes possession of this outpost, however, Vulcan law takes precedence and you will no longer be a slave," he went on. "At that time, any and all actions which you undertake in opposition to a recognized agent of the Vulcan High Council will be considered crimes worthy of prosecution and appropriate punishment. Do you intend to cooperate, or must I restrain you to prevent such actions?" He regarded her dispassionately, as if her answer made little difference to him in the greater scheme of things.

Natolya eyed him speculatively. She'd never been so close to a Vulcan male. Rumor had it that they were immune to the pheromones she'd used to manipulate the males around her for so many years. It might be interesting to see if the rumors were true. She smiled.

"Please have a seat...," she offered, indicating an overstuffed velvet covered chair beside the settee where the Andorian lay snoring. Her eyes widened in mock innocence as she batted her lashes, "...Officer Senek, is it?" The Vulcan just gave her a tolerant look and remained standing. She continued to smile invitingly. "It's obvious that you have the upper hand here, and I yield to you gladly," she told him soothingly. "Grigor-Tel has been so cruel to me. I'm nothing but a humble slave... yours to command." She began walking around the edge of the desk, and was mildly disappointed when the Vulcan seemed indifferent to her approach. She insinuated herself into his personal space, running a hand slowly along his arm and moving forward until her still lush body was only centimeters from his, maintaining smoldering eye contact the entire time.

"I see," he responded ironically, ignoring her hand on his arm. "In that case, lead me to where the Vulcan captives are being held. I have orders to transport them to my ship as soon as it arrives."

She stroked his arm briefly, looking longingly into his eyes. He stared her down impassively until she finally gave up, sighing in resignation as she led the way toward the back of her office.

_Oh, well. It was worth a try,_ she thought wryly as she laid her hand against a section of wall that appeared no different than any other.

#

An invisible seam split open and revealed a doorway sized panel, which sank back a few centimeters before sliding aside. Natolya led the way into a metal walled alcove where the bottom of a spiraling utilitarian staircase was anchored.

Senek made a small gesture for her to go ahead. Natolya inclined her head as graciously as if she were being handed onto a yacht, and began climbing the metal steps. Despite her soft soled slippers, the Orion woman's footsteps echoed up and down the stairwell. Senek prepared himself for the near certainty of attack at some point during the ascent. But to his surprise, they arrived at the second level corridor unscathed.

Natolya offered, "This is my observation run. From here I can keep an eye on things, and make sure that my boys and girls are not being mistreated." She gave him a look obviously intended to convey sincerity. "I have to take care of them, you know. We are all the helpless property of Grigor-Tel. But since I am responsible for them, I must make sure that no one abuses them."

"Indeed," Senek said frostily. "Helpless property? Hardly, Madam. Property by the letter of the law perhaps. But far from helpless. And you do not consider life as a slave to be abuse?" He could not control a tiny, almost imperceptible jerk of his chin. Natolya jumped. "No matter, lead me to the Vulcan women."

She eyed him warily and moved ahead down the hallway, past several closed observation ports, until she finally stopped in front of an access hatch that appeared to be unusually well secured. "This is V'Sille's room. The other girl, T'Mara, is in the next room."

Senek's face tightened. "Is anyone in there with them?"

"I don't know."

"Open the observation port," he ordered.

Natolya reached for it hesitantly, glancing over at Senek with a worried expression. "Now," he said flatly. She swallowed and slid the cover aside, peeking through the one way mirror.

Her expression told Senek the answer before she even spoke. "She is entertaining a client." She flinched at the expression on his face.

"Speak plainly," he instructed her through his teeth. "You mean that she is in the process of being raped."

Natolya stood paralyzed, obviously unable to come up with a response to his statement.

"Has the microbe been administered to her yet?" Senek asked urgently. Natolya's eyes widened in realization. Senek could see the fear in them. She had evidently not comprehended the extent of his knowledge until that moment.

"I don't think so. Not yet. He was holding the hypo when I looked," she confessed.

Senek moved like a panther. His hand flashed across the distance between them and squeezed her shoulder, not bothering to catch her as she fell. The lock securing the access hatch was primitive and easily broken by a Vulcan kick. He yanked the hatch aside and lunged into the room just as the client, a leering young Andorian, finished disrobing and turned toward V'Sille with the hypospray in his hand.

Had the rapist been any race but Andorian, Senek might have let him live. The Vulcan operative would have denied it with his last breath, but fifty years of clandestine warfare – fifty years of watching his closest friends and comrades die, either in battle or under slow torture at the hands of the blueskins - had seriously damaged Senek's ability to maintain a dispassionate viewpoint about some things.

As it was, he did not hesitate. A fraction of a second was required to flick his thumb over the selector switch on his sidearm. A quick squeeze of the trigger and it was done. He turned to V'Sille and lowered the weapon. Keeping his eyes on her face, Senek raised his left hand in greeting and carefully said, "Peace and long life to you, Lady V'Sille. I am Senek, Son of K'Ton, an operative of the Intelligence Directorate. I have come to take you home."

Her face rippled for several seconds. Then a final wave of emotions seemed to flow over it, leaving glacial calm behind. She raised her hand and returned, "Live long and prosper, Senek. It is agreeable to see you. May I suggest that we proceed to the adjacent room and recover my colleague, T'Mara?"

"A logical suggestion, Lady V'Sille. If I may make a suggestion, I note that the Andorian was approximately of the same size as yourself. Perhaps his clothing might be more appropriate than the costume provided by this establishment?" V'Sille nodded in agreement, as outwardly unperturbed now as if she'd been fully dressed. He kept his eyes on hers as he continued. "I left Natolya unconscious in the corridor. If you are willing to stand guard over her it would be helpful."

V'Sille's face retained its immobility, but her eyes began to glow. "I will be most willing to do so, Agent Senek. I will find that task most agreeable indeed."

Senek ducked back through the hatch to give V'Sille a chance to dress with a trace of dignity. Natolya was still out cold, to his satisfaction. As he straightened from checking the Orion, Senek saw to his surprise that V'Sille had merely slid into the Andorian's coveralls and grabbed the rest, heading through the hatch without bothering to fasten anything.

"It would be illogical to delay proceeding to T'Mara's room in a belated attempt to preserve my modesty," she explained dryly. Senek nodded in matter-of-fact approval and moved off down the hallway as she slid the hatch closed.

Senek reached the next observation port and glanced back at the two women. Natolya lay where she had fallen. V'Sille had taken a position facing her, squatting near her head and holding the knife that Senek provided. He noted that V'Sille was running the blade thoughtfully back and forth between her fingers.

Senek slid the port aside, secretly dreading what he might see. He had already come to terms with the possibility that he might be forced to allow a rape in progress to proceed to completion. Given the realities of Vulcan biology, if one of the women had already been injected and gone into plak tau then he would have no choice. She would have to mate or die. Senek might find himself forced to leave one of the women where she was. Given the time constraints he was working under, he simply was not in a position to wait helplessly until her "client" had finished with her before he could move in. The thought sickened him.

Senek looked through the port and a thousand years of peaceful conditioning fell away. His lips curled in a snarl.

The Vulcan warrior backed off and swung his leg around in a powerful kick that tore the latch off its mounting and sent it ringing down the hallway. He yanked the hatch back hard enough that it bounced in its track, but by the time the hatch had slid back to the half closed point, he was already through.

#

The sound of the opening hatch distracted T'Mara's attacker. The Orion twisted his head to gape at a hooded figure diving into the room, leaving T'Mara free to launch a series of side kicks to his shin. The sudden pain, combined with the appearance of an enemy, loosened his grip enough for her to jam an elbow back into his gut and twist free.

"_Guards!"_ the Orion bellowed and lunged at the new arrival with his big hands outstretched to grab and tear. The intruder slid aside with contemptuous ease, grabbing one wrist in passing and twisting it neatly around. He held the Orion's wrist as the fat man lumbered past, pivoting smoothly on one heel in the process. A meticulously precise chop with his free hand left the huge Orion screaming with a shattered elbow.

T'Mara fell back with wide eyes, watching both men in shock until the falling hood revealed a Vulcan's features. That's when a bolt of something akin to ecstasy shot though her entire body.

When Natolya had informed T'Mara that morning that she would be required to entertain one of Grigor-Tel's most important allies, Haland-Kor, who was also known among the slaves as one of the most brutally perverted of all Natolya's customers, she had seriously considered suicide. Of the last five slaves used by Haland-Kor, two had later died from his abuse, and one had fallen into madness and eventually been put down like a sick animal. The remaining two were sold as mine workers, since they were ruined as pleasure slaves. Natolya had told her that Grigor-Tel had charged Haland-Kor the price of a small moon for a night with one of his prize Vulcans. For some reason, T'Mara had not found the news particularly comforting.

As the Vulcan and Haland-Kor circled each other, the Orion evidently having belatedly realized that this enemy wasn't intimidated by his size, T'Mara slid around behind the would-be rapist and grabbed for the hilt of his jewel encumbered belt knife. The blade was wrought from gold pressed latinum, useless for cutting, but the triangular shape would still serve for a stab if she could manage to hit a soft spot. T'Mara let her gaze rake over the Orion's back, digging through unpleasant memories to come up with the most vulnerable point.

The Orion suddenly swirled and dashed for the doorway. T'Mara's Vulcan rescuer leaped in pursuit, apparently trying to stop him from summoning the guards outside. T'Mara, temporarily forgotten by both men, lunged across the room. Haland-Kor swung his good arm to smack her aside like an annoying bug. T'Mara, determined to sting anyway, ducked under his arm and came up hard, burying the Orion's own dagger to the hilt in his belly and twisting it in a wide circle before ripping it back out again. It was a very satisfying experience.

Haland-Kor's running stride faltered and broke into a stagger. He fell against the door and managed to pound his fist one time before sagging to the floor, dying.

#

Once had been enough. The door opened almost instantly, revealing the inquiring face of a Nausican guard. Senek let out his breath. There was no avoiding it now. The Andorian and the Orion had both deserved death by Vulcan law. Rape was a capital crime under the laws of his people, and execution was the prescribed penalty from time immemorial. Being caught in the attack of attempting rape was just as bad as far as Vulcan law was concerned. If he and T'Mara had not killed them, a Vulcan executioner would have.

The Nausican guards were a different matter. Unfortunately, he could not afford to leave any witnesses. The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. If this guard was allowed to survive and give warning, it would ultimately cause the unnecessary deaths of many others, both on this station and perhaps even aboard the two Vulcan ships approaching. Regrettably, this guard would have to die also. This was the part of his job that he found the most distasteful.

The entire line of reasoning flickered through Senek's mind with the speed of a static electric spark. Before the Nausican's hand could do more than grab the hilt of his sword, Senek had him by the throat and was dragging him inside. Before the door finished closing, T'Mara had delivered an enthusiastically lethal blow with the edge of her hand to the back of the guard's neck.

"There is a second guard," she informed Senek. "He will have seen." Senek nodded, with a resigned expression. He drew his sidearm and moved to the doorway in a low crouch. As the door opened, Senek leaned around, just in time to see the guard running toward him with sword drawn. He fired a quick burst into the Nausican's skull and dropped him like a rock. It seemed that probability had decided to favor them for once, and the corridor was otherwise empty. The pair of them carried the second guard quickly into T'Mara's room.

The Vulcan woman swiftly set about stripping the bodies of weapons and useable clothing. "I am T'Mara, daughter of N'Sarel," she said briskly, shooting Senek a look.

"I am Senek, Son of K'Ton," he replied, striving to regain his aplomb while admiring her ability to do the same. "V'Sille is waiting in the observation hallway and guarding Natolya, who is unconscious."

"Excellent," T'Mara said with satisfaction. "I deduce that you are an operative of some type?"

"Yes," Senek lifted an eyebrow. "Intelligence. I am the advance agent for a rescue task force that is en route to this station."

A cloud passed over T'Mara's face. "Many of our people have already been shipped deeper into the Syndicate. There are only three of us left here at Natolya's, V'Sille and I, and one young boy who is used for menial maintenance work. I do not know how many others remain on the station elsewhere."

Senek's jaw tightened. "That is unfortunate. However, we can at least recover the individuals who are here and question the Orions regarding the fate of the others. Do you believe that the boy you mentioned is in any immediate danger?"

T'Mara considered. "Doubtful. He is considered too young to be useful as a..." she paused, then continued with her teeth locked, "pleasure slave. I believe he merely works doing laundry, mopping, and other such tasks. It is unlikely that he will be molested."

Senek nodded. "In that case, I suggest that we proceed to Natolya's office. I have some things to finish before the attack begins."

T'Mara stood up and handed him one of the Nausican swords, belting the other one on herself. Nausicans who acted as personal bodyguards on the station carried heavy armaments of great sophistication. Guards who came into direct contact with slaves, however, did not carry guns, for the same reason that prison guards did not carry guns. Even with the pain collars it was barely possible that a rogue slave might be able to obtain a gun and do some random damage before he or she was taken down, but it was unlikely to the point of impossibilty that any slave, shaking with agony, would be able to accomplish much with a heavy sword.

Senek led the way into the back hallway, motioning to T'Mara to join the other two while he closed the hatch. "Before we do anything else," he said, "allow me to deactivate those collars." They stood with poorly concealed eagerness as he applied his scanner to the left side of each collar and punched in the pre-prepared code to activate the virus. This virus, carefully prepared by the best programmers in the Vulcan Security Directorate, was designed to penetrate the root operating system of the collars and destroy it beyond any possibility of repair. When it completed its work, the micro-fibers would still be embedded in the women's nervous systems, but they would simply be dead weight, completely inert and harmless.

Senek explained the process as the program ran and then picked up Natolya. "Let us proceed to Natolya's office," he said. "I believe her personal terminal might provide some useful data. And I left something unfinished on her couch."

#

Raijiin stood at the head of the reception line, tastefully resplendent in a metallic sky-blue ball gown with a neckline plunging down so far fore and aft that adhesives were an indispensable accessory. She wore no collar. That privilege had recently been granted to her in exchange for services rendered, a much more equitable arrangement than she had ever enjoyed under the thumbs of her previous controllers, the Reptillian Xindi. They'd never fully appreciated her usefulness, and had sold her to the highest bidder once her sympathy for the Human upstarts had made her loyalty suspect. Raijiin felt fortunate that she'd ended up here. The place had definite possibilities for someone of her talents. In her own way, she was as capable of manipulating the male mind as any Orion female, and Natolya wouldn't be in charge forever.

Natolya had thus far been very appreciative of her skills. Fortunately, the Orion merchant whose pillow talk and surface thoughts had resulted in his financial ruin would never know the source of the information which had been provided to his competitor, Grigor-Tel. Natolya had of course claimed full credit with their master, and so Raijiin's usefulness remained the sole property of her immediate supervisor, also a slave but certainly no fool.

She glanced again with a puzzled look at the door to Natolya's office, still closed unexpectedly during their most busy hour of the day. It was unlike her employer to leave the reception area unattended. The two men who'd accompanied her into her office had appeared neither important enough nor attractive enough to consume this much of her time. On the other hand, there had been two of them, and Natolya was known for her exotic tastes.

Not one of the team of Nausican bouncers seemed the least concerned, and they were usually very protective of their employer since she controlled the credits which filled their pockets. Raijiin trusted Nausicans more than some other species because she understood them completely. They could always be relied upon to act with purely mercenary motivation. She had the Nausican who'd bought her from the Xindi to thank for her current opportunity. He'd had no clue about her capabilities, otherwise he probably would have tripled her price when he sold her with the other slaves he'd collected.

Business was booming, as was usual for this time of the evening, with a steady flow of customers paired with one or more slaves climbing up the staircase arm in arm, hand in hand, or connected by leashes and cords of various materials, and an equally steady flow of sleepy-eyed and smiling clients coming down with their slaves on the opposite stair to settle with the cashier. The slaves then took their places at the end of the reception line to start the process all over again. It was a well-honed system, and made millions of credits per year for Grigor-Tel and his corporation. The income trickled down to the rest of them only through Natolya and their so-called "spending allowances"—another good reason to stay in her good graces.

"How'd a scrawny thing like you end up a sex slave? I'd break you trying to ride you," remarked a chubby but very well-dressed Tellurian who'd ambled up to inspect the lineup. He was grinning widely, and his eyes sparkled with interest in his piggish face as he leered. Raijiin's attention was diverted back to work. She returned his leer with a speculative glance, inspecting him from head to foot, and then returned his typically Tellurian insult with one of her own.

"I don't break that easily, you oversexed son of a Slime Devil," she replied disdainfully. "You're not nearly enough male to satisfy me, though. If I were you, I'd try someone else."

His leer was transformed into a grin of pure delight, and he extended a hand, choosing her services with every evidence of pleased anticipation. Raijiin sighed, took his hand, and allowed herself to be towed up the staircase at a near-run. She really needed to learn not to insult the Tellurians so convincingly.

#

Commander T'Lar turned her head and asked, "Status, Sub-Commander?"

"Weapons charged, shields at full strength, hull plating at optimum."

She pressed a button. "Engineering, report."

"_All systems ready for battle, Commander."_

Aside from her own voice and the Chief engineer's response, the bridge was restfully quiet. No one spoke, because no one had anything to say. Everyone knew their jobs and stayed busy doing them. Had it not been illogical, T'Lar might have indulged in a brief burst of pride. The _Sehlat_ continued to close on the station at full speed. "Helm, report ETA until weapon's range."

The Centurion checked his instruments. "We will be within torpedo range in 6.3 minutes. Disruptor range in 11.5 minutes."

"Acknowledged," T'Lar glanced over her shoulder. "Sub-Commander Verlen, do you have further scan data yet?"

"Affirmative, Commander. Long range sensors have detected the presence of archaic plasma cannons, and localized energy sources indicate a high probability of photon torpedo emplacements. Tactical maneuvering may be required."

"Direct sensor data to helm control," she ordered.

"Commander," Sub-Centurion L'Mira at Communications spoke up. "Incoming from the _Le'Matya_. They report the Andorian trader has been apprehended. They were able to disable the ship without loss of life." She paused, listening, and then added, "They also report the presence of a Human aboard."

T'Lar responded sharply, "Confirm that. The presence of a Human is highly illogical in this situation."

"Humans," Sub-Commander Verlen murmured in the background, "have displayed a remarkably unsettling tendency of late to appear at the most inopportune moments."

L'Mira finished speaking into her microphone and turned around. "Confirmed, Commander. The _Le'Matya_ reports two Andorians and one Human. The Human is demanding his Right to Counsel as specified under the Treaty of Vulcan-Terran Alliance."

"Tell them to provide him with every consideration to which he is entitled by law," she ordered grimly, "and nothing more. Put the Andorians into the brig for later interrogation. Have _Le'Matya_ move to the opposite side of the station and stand by for the attack order."

"Acknowledged." The Comm officer turned back to her station and got busy.

"Verlen," she asked, dropping into informal mode without thinking, "any bio-signs yet?"

Her second-in-command forbore to point out his Commander's breach of etiquette. They had served together for too many years for him to hold it against her. Besides, she had a personal stake in this mission. Her family had been aboard the _Plains of Gol_ when it disappeared.

"No, Commander," he answered. "At this range I cannot distinguish individual readings. As soon as we are able to determine the presence of Vulcan life signs, I will make it a priority to notify you."

"Acknowledged." She settled back and forced herself to concentrate on controlling her breathing and centering herself. For her crew's sake, she must be fully in control. The next few minutes would be critical.

#

Grigor-Tel cursed and slapped an open hand against the wall. He stalked over to the view screen, glaring at the three glowing dots. Two of them were green, the third was blue. As he watched, the blue dot went dark.

"_Lerteiran_ is hit," Sirlea reported intently from the weapons console. "Engines crippled. They are dead."

"Or worse," Grigor-Tel muttered. He shook his head, honestly regretful for just an instant. He shoved it away. He had more important things to do than worry about someone else. "Pass the order to all fire control stations - ready target locks with the plasma cannons. As soon as the Vulcans come within range, commence firing at will. But hold the torpedoes in reserve. We are going to need them badly before this is over, and at long range those D'Kyr are too quick. They will have too much room to dodge."

"Where did that second cruiser come from, anyway?" Sirlea muttered. "There was no sign of it. Then suddenly, there it was."

"An old trick," Grigor-Tel told her wearily. "I have used it myself, many times in my youth. This close, the nebula throws off a tangled snarl of radiation of all types. Anything-a rock, an asteroid, even a small cloud of dust-reflects and refracts it in random patterns. A careful engineer can manipulate his shields to emit random noise. It looks superficially like a reflection of cosmic rays and microwaves hitting an asteroid. Easy to spot if you know what you are looking for. But we were not looking. Fools!"

He fidgeted nervously. It had been far too long since he last stood to battle. He was not a coward by any means. No coward in the Syndicate survived to adulthood. But he had lost his taste for bloodshed long ago. Wine, women, good music, fine food—these were what he craved now, not the excitement of facing an enemy that lusted for his blood. Especially an enemy that was as cold and merciless as a machine. He shuddered, remembering some of the stories he had heard about Vulcan atrocities, examples they had made of other people who had dared to lay hands on their women and children. If those cruisers broke through the station's defenses, it might be better to shoot himself before they had a chance to take him.

#

"I don't care about your reason for being here!" Daniel stood up and pounded his fist on the table, playing the part of an out-of-control Human to the hilt, "You had no right to fire on my ship!"

The Vulcan officer across the table from him was imperturbable. "You have been taken into protective custody. This area is expected to become dangerous very soon."

"_Protective Custody!"_ Daniel screeched, hoping he wasn't piling it on too thick. "The only thing we need protection from is you, our so called allies! Damned if I don't think that with allies like you, a man has no possible use for an enemy. All we were doing was _ trying to leave."_

"Why were you leaving?" the Vulcan pounced, with an 'aha' gleam in his eyes. "Your cargo hold was empty. A freighter does not usually make a habit of traveling without a cargo, is this not correct?"

"Brilliant!" Daniel threw up his hands and spun around to address the ceiling. "Give the man a cookie. No wonder Vulcans have such a reputation for keen insight and clear logic." He spun back around and put both fists on the table, leaning over to look his interrogator in the eye. The best defense was a strong offense, after all. He sure wasn't likely to make things any worse than they already were.

"We left because we saw an unidentified craft closing on the station at high warp. This being the Orion Syndicate, an unidentified craft closing at high warp usually means murder, mayhem, and massive destruction. So we decided to run like hell to get out of the firing zone." He straightened up and paced over to the far end of the meeting room.

"I must ask you again, why were you aboard an Andorian ship?"

Daniel punched the wall. It made a satisfying noise, but the pain in his knuckles was not worth it. He sagged and rested his head against the wall, shaking it back and forth slowly against the cool metal. It actually felt good against his poor bruised nose.

"I. Will. Say. It. Again." he bit out the words one at a time with his forehead pressed to the wall. "I am part owner of the _Lerteiran._

"And I will respond again," the Vulcan officer said, "that there is no logical reason for a Human to own an interest in an Andorian ship operating inside the Orion Syndicate."

"I thought you were supposed to have been assigned as my counsel," Daniel growled at him, rounding on him in his anger. "Instead, you act like a prosecutor. If you are not interested in helping me, will you at least arrange for me to see my business associates so that I can confirm for myself that they are being treated well?"

"I am acting as your counsel," the Vulcan officer, who had never bothered to introduce himself, replied, "But I can accomplish nothing unless you are honest with me-"

"DAMN YOU!" Daniel didn't have to fake it this time. "And damn your sanctimonious hypocrisy!"

He stomped over with fire in his eye, looking pissed enough that the Vulcan stood up, just in case. Daniel got in his face and unloaded.

"You come here and open fire on my ship for no reason, attacking us without cause. You kidnap me and my business partners, hold us prisoner without trial and without charging us with any crime, not bothering to acknowledge that we are not even in Vulcan territory. Now you dare to act like I am the one doing something wrong! Oh, the news services back on Earth are going to LOVE this one! Considering that Xindi bullshit, when you bailed out on us while we were under attack, not to mention the way you Vulcans seem to enjoy bombing other race's embassies. Something like this is just going to make the news media's day!"

"Threats are illogical, Mr. Johansen. Neither are they constructive nor particularly safe," the Vulcan warned him tightly.

Daniel snorted. "Surely you aren't dumb enough to think that you can keep this secret? No doubt there are a dozen small ships surrounding this area, watching and monitoring what's happening right now. This is the _Syndicate_ , you idiot. Information is more valuable than latinum here. By tomorrow a full report on everything that happened here will be circulating. In ten days it will be in the Klingon council chambers, and the Romulans will have a copy in fifteen. It might take twenty for it to reach Andoria, but it will get there. And it will include names. Including ours."

"So you admit that the Andorian High Command would recognize your name?"

Daniel closed his eyes in actual pain. _"The only way to insert a new idea into a Vulcan is to use anti-matter. That's a proven fact,"_ He heaved a deep sigh.

"For the last time," he spoke with insultingly exaggerated patience. "I am part owner of the ship that you _pirated_. We are free traders, nothing more or less. We came here with a hold full of Andorian ale, and intended to take on a load of grav plates with a contract to deliver them to Alembra. When we discovered that your _pirate ship,"_ Daniel noted with satisfaction the tiny flare of the Vulcan's nostrils, "was approaching the station at attack speed, we decided that our hides were worth more to us than money. Unfortunately, we did not anticipate that you would have another ship to assist you in your _criminal attacks._ We were ambushed without warning, without cause, and without being given the option of surrender. That is the entire story, just as I plan to report it when I get back to Earth. And if either of my partners is harmed, I intend to report it to the Andorian embassy as well."

His companion eyed him silently for a moment longer and then pressed a button on the wall. The door opened and two Vulcan crewmen wearing sidearms walked in. "If you decide to cooperate later, my name is Sub-Centurion Melek."

"Your name is going to be Witness For The Defendant, once I file my lawsuit," Daniel snarled and marched out between the guards.

#

Senek removed the data disk from the computer in Natolya's office and pocketed it. The access codes on it would undoubtedly be very useful. He was satisfied thus far with his decision to use her as an information source. Despite the letter of Orion law, Vulcan xenoanthropologists had long been aware of the most unusual control Orion female "slaves" seemed to have over their masters. His assumption that Natolya would have Grigor-Tel's personal access codes on hand had proved to be correct. He rose from the over-stuffed chair behind the desk, checked the bindings that held Natolya in her seat and nodded approvingly. The gag was efficient, preventing her from making a sound but doing nothing to restrict her breathing. She should be perfectly safe here until the station had been secured.

Especially with the two guards that would be standing over her.

Neither T'Mara nor V'Sille appeared to be physically in optimum condition. Senek had expressed concern, but both women assured him they were fully capable of caring for themselves. He remained dubious. Neither appeared to have received adequate nutrition for quite some time, and he detected the unmistakable symptoms of exhaustion. But there were things that he urgently needed to do prior to the attack. If they were capable of managing for themselves it would remove a heavy burden of responsibility from his shoulders.

Senek had retrieved his knife, trading V'Sille the second Nausican sword in its place. He had originally thought of leaving the women his spare sidearm, but it turned out not to be necessary. Natolya's office contained a hidden gun cabinet from which all three Vulcans were able to help themselves. Senek was gratified to discover a selection of sonic grenades in the cabinet, which would simplify his task enormously.

The drunken Andorian was still snoring peacefully on the settee, smiling and stinking. Senek firmly suppressed a sigh and swung him over one shoulder, freezing his facial muscles to prevent a grimace of disgust. He turned to deliver final instructions to his charges.

"When the cruisers arrive, they will of course be required to disable the station's defenses before they can retrieve you. Remain here until the attack ceases. Then activate the beacon, even if I have not yet returned."

He demonstrated how to activate the signal transmitter and handed it to V'Sille. "If necessary, do not hesitate to use the threat of harm to Natolya as a bargaining point in order to protect yourselves." Natolya's eyes widened above the gag.

V'Sille permitted the corners of her mouth to twitch. "Certainly, Agent Senek. That will present no difficulty. As soon as we begin removing portions of her anatomy, I am certain that she will use her pheromones to convince anyone attempting to invade the office to leave." Natolya's eyes began to show a rim of white around the iris. She made a muffled noise, which was ignored.

T'Mara walked around to stand in front of the bound Orion woman. "It should not be necessary to resort to crude mutilation," she said. Her face betrayed not the faintest trace of expression. Natolya slumped in relief.

"Direct stimulation of the pain centers through the use of neuropressure techniques will be much more efficient, don't you think V'Sille?" T'Mara asked in a conversational tone. "Not only will it avoid the mess involved with blood loss, but it permits the subject to remain alive indefinitely."

Natolya stiffened and almost came up out of the chair. She started making the same noise again, while shaking her head back and forth rapidly. Senek decided to leave the ladies to deal with their former captor as they saw fit. He had work to do.

The Nausican guards showed only mild interest when he walked toward the door carrying the Andorian. Apparently this was not an uncommon sight in their experience. Senek kept his face pulled back as far as possible in his hood and muttered softly in Orion trade lingo, "Natolya asked me to take out the trash." They laughed and waved him through.

The Vulcan walked rapidly down the main causeway toward the nearest piece of ornamental statuary, a remarkably unaesthetic rendering of a nude female Klingon in the act of spearing a targ, and dumped his burden unceremoniously at its base. He brushed at his shoulder, and then gave it up as futile. There would be no hope of removing the smell without laundering, if even that worked. Senek regretfully decided that this mission might end up costing him his favorite cloak. One more item to add to the tally he owed the Orions.

He took off down along the edge of the upper level, walking briskly. By his time sense, the attack was due to commence in 27 plus or minus 3 minutes. There was always a margin of error in these calculations when coordinating multiple objectives.

Agent Senek experienced a twinge of regret at being forced to leave the remaining Vulcan slaves in captivity for the present. A completely objective observer might even have gone so far as to suggest that rescuing V'Sille and T'Mara was an illogical waste of valuable time. Considering the crucial nature of his next mission objective, perhaps he should have left them where they were and proceeded directly to the control areas, but he had not been able to force himself to do it. Not after he learned what they were enduring. It was bad enough, what the other captives had been subjected to. But _this..._ this was beyond intolerable.

Never would he have believed it possible that any provocation could drive him to willingly harm a female. Not for any reason. But when Natolya had taken him to those obscenely decorated cells, Senek had required every sliver of his self-discipline not to simply snap the Orion's neck.

No. It had cost him some time but he did not begrudge it, regardless of what his superiors would say when they read his report.

He made it past the commercial area and well into the residential section before slowing down. This portion of the station was reserved for the Orions themselves and their few permanent guests. Few people were visible here. Most of the security systems were carefully hidden. Anyone caught dawdling was likely to be summarily intercepted and questioned if they were fortunate, disposed of if they were not.

Senek let his shoulders slump and started shuffling a bit, trying to look like a typical slave being sent on an errand. The effort reminded him of the earlier discomforting event involving that young Human. Logic informed him that the young man must have recognized him by his body movements. This conclusion opened more questions than it answered—the most important being, why was a Human here at all?

Senek considered the possibility that Starfleet might have launched a clandestine operation on the station without informing the new High Council. Considering the recent strain between the allies, it was quite possible. If the Orions were kidnapping Vulcans, it would not be incredible to discover that they were also dealing in Humans. If so, the young man he saw might be an agent for Starfleet, a private citizen bent on personal revenge, or a criminal in league with the Orions.

Or perhaps he was something else entirely. Humans were exasperatingly unpredictable. Senek's nostrils flared. He had no time to waste on this, but he dared not ignore it either. His presence had been detected, and his attempt to lure his pursuer into a secluded area for ambush and interrogation had been unsuccessful. If the boy was working with the Orions he might be walking directly into an ambush right now. If not, the attack might result in killing an agent of an allied race, a race that had recently been of significant service to his people. Senek felt tired. Dealing with Humans often had that effect on him.

The map he had memorized was accurate. The hatch was at the end of the passage just where it was supposed to be. His standard issue scanner/translator made short work of the door code. Senek walked through with an air of being perfectly at ease, in compliance with standard procedure. One of the first principles of clandestine operation was the tendency of people to operate in accordance with ingrained habit and assumptions. If they saw someone in a familiar place, behaving in a familiar manner as if they belonged there, most people never bothered to investigate further. The new corridor was uncarpeted and lacked decoration, as befit a maintenance access. Senek called up a picture of the station layout from memory. He would need to penetrate five separate security points.

Senek considered himself fortunate that the station, like most Orion technology, was stolen. It had originated as a huge generational ship built by an unknown race centuries ago. Orions had discovered the relic and, using slave labor, had renovated it and installed a massive warp engine in an attempt to create a 'dreadnought' of sorts.

The effort was a failure. The improvised ship proved too unwieldy for actual battle. Although the oversized engine provided enough power to give it massive firepower and almost impenetrable screens, the ship itself wallowed awkwardly in flight. Originally designed for sublight velocities, the craft's configuration caused its warp field to deform at even moderate speeds, and its sheer mass made it slow and clumsy in normal space. So the Orions came up with another use for it. Over the centuries the station had been expanded by the addition of new ships, welded on to provide additional living and working space. The result was an asymmetrical conglomeration of mismatched technology that needed constant tinkering to keep it running.

As a result, Senek could wander freely through the non-restricted areas of maintenance without anyone giving him a second glance. The place was far too crowded and too busy for anyone to notice a single extra figure. It was going to be different, of course, once he got past the first security station, but he was prepared, he hoped, for every eventuality.

He patted his breast pocket, touching the data disc he'd copied from Natolya's office computer, complete with identifiers marking its origin and its supposed contents—confidential records from Natolya's place of business too sensitive for open transmission and destined for Grigor-Tel's eyes only. Then he pulled his hood closely over his ears and did his best slave shuffle directly toward the first checkpoint.

#

Leaving the Tellurian snoozing contentedly in the lavishly overdecorated bedchamber, Raijiin padded nude across the carpeted hallway into the break room reserved for staff It was a sanctuary where clients were not allowed. She lowered herself into the steaming water of the shared bathing pool with a sigh of relief.

Just for a few minutes.

She needed it after the Tellurian, who'd been just as rude and abrupt in his taking of pleasure as he was in his language. The water was fragrant and laced with non- irritating disinfectants, an additional luxury provided by Natolya to preserve the health of her "girls and boys". It felt absolutely wonderful.

Raijiin couldn't recall the last time she'd been treated so well by one of her owners. When she'd first arrived, she'd even suspected that Natolya might bear some affection for the young men and women she was charged with supervising. She'd assumed that it had something to do with the fact that, although Natolya had complete autonomy over her business, she was still technically just as much a slave as any one of her charges. After the arrival of the Vulcan women, though, Raijiin had come to doubt her assumptions and had decided that, like her Nausican guards, the Orion woman had purely mercenary motives.

Happy slaves were more productive, especially in a business in which feelings played such a large role. Raijiin herself was extremely adept at imitating feelings, but she'd long since stopped associating both the physical acts she performed at work and the interactions she had with her owners with any personal emotion. Not all of the younger slaves had made that transition, however. For them, being well treated, well-fed, and apparently cherished by someone made Natolya's a home to them—the only place in their short and brutal lives where they actually felt loved. This, of course, was a wonderful thing for a youngster who'd been sold to the highest bidder. It was also very good for business. Natolya's girls and boys would literally do anything for her.

Raijiin closed her eyes and reveled in the luxury of bathing alone. The bath was usually empty during peak hours when there was little time for soaking, but the Tellurian had paid for two hours of her time and had fallen asleep from exhaustion and too much drink after only thirty minutes. He was dead to the world, snoring so loudly she could still hear him through the closed door of the break room. Of course, he had good reason to be exhausted. None of Raijiin's clients ever had cause to complain that they didn't get their money's worth. She, in turn, gleaned a great deal of useful information from them in unguarded moments, most of which she stored in her eidetic memory for future need.

The snoring reverberated down the hall, providing an oddly soothing backdrop to her soak. After a moment, though, she opened her eyes. Something was wrong. It was too quiet.

The two newest girls were confined to the reinforced bedchambers formerly used by Natolya's Klingon contingent for their more athletically strenuous clientele. The chambers neighbored Raijiin's assigned room, and she'd become accustomed since the Vulcans had arrived to the animalistic noises which came from the rooms after clients were escorted there. She held her breath and listened, but still heard nothing except the Tellurian.

The Vulcans weren't allowed to leave their chambers unless escorted by two armed Nausicans each. Raijiin's only experience with a Vulcan on the starship Enterprise had not impressed her with the need for such precautions, but, then, Vulcans were extremely strong and no one here was able to telepathically link with the women and control them the way Raijiin could. She'd kept that skill to herself thus far, not wanting to be assigned babysitting duty. Keeping rebellious Vulcans under control was not her job, and she wanted to avoid it if at all possible. Although she'd had no say in the decision to detain them, she still felt a strange sense of guilt regarding Natolya's use of them. Some beings adapted well to a life devoted to pleasuring others, but Vulcans seemed ill-suited to the task.

The two Vulcan females had been somber and silent the few times Raijiin had seen them, almost as if they were in shock. Rumor had it that they were given something in the presence of clients which ripped their control from them completely, turning them into sex-starved animals. Raijiin had had personal experience with disinhibiting drugs early in her years with the Xindi. It had taken several months before she'd developed the acting skills to convince her captors that she could perform her duties better without them. She'd initially suffered horrible humiliation recalling the memories of what she'd done under the drugs' influence, but degrading acts had since become second nature to her. Nothing really bothered her anymore—until now. The Vulcan girls were innocents where sex was concerned and would never emotionally resign themselves to living the lives of pleasure slaves. It was unthinkably cruel to force beings who prided themselves on their emotional control to become feral animals at the whim of a client. Just the idea made her burn with an emotion she hadn't experienced in years—righteous anger.

Discarding her plans for a relaxing soak, Raijiin rose from the bath, grabbed the last fresh towel from a table by the pool, and wrapped it around her dripping body. She stepped into the lushly carpeted hallway, where the Tellurian's snores still resounded, and strode down it toward the oddly silent rooms. The Nausican guards weren't at their posts at the Vulcans' chamber doors and the doors were locked.

Raijiin glanced briefly up and down the hallway, then whipped a pin from her hair and proceeded to pick the lock of the first chamber. She was in within seconds. Inside the room she found a hugely obese and very dead Orion male that she vaguely recognized from the local news broadcasts as a Syndicate kingpin and the corpses of the missing Nausicans, stripped of weapons and partially dressed. Raijiin froze for a moment before backing out of the room quickly, not forgetting to wipe the door handle thoroughly and reset the lock. She listened and looked up and down the corridor carefully before making a very swift inspection of the adjoining room. It was in a similar situation, this time involving a naked Andorian - Where were the girls?

Raijiin strode quickly back to her chamber, shed the towel, pulled a multicolored, pastel ankle length silk robe from the closet, and shrugged it on, tying it snugly about her waist. Then she left the room, double checking that her client was still snoring. The Vulcans were going to need help if they expected to get out of there alive. If they had left by the back stairway, they were either safely out by now or they had already been captured. That stairway led directly into Mistress Natolya's office. Either way, there was nothing she could do for them if they'd already been discovered, but if they were still at large she might be able to give them a fighting chance.

As she walked down the corridor searching for the girls' likely route of escape, she caught sight of the new laundry boy with a stack of clean sheets and towels piled high on his cart, headed for the storage closets near the break room. She'd almost forgotten about him. The child was truly gorgeous—perhaps ten years old, with delicate features, porcelain skin, incredibly long, dark eyelashes and the unconsciously seductive mannerisms of an innocent with no inkling of his physical beauty. His pointed ears peeked out from his lustrous black hair, allowed to grow slightly longer than was customary among his people in the weeks since he'd been taken. Natolya's future plans for the boy entailed a great deal more than laundry service, Raijiin was sure. Fortunately, Natolya didn't deal with pedophiles, and Raijiin had heard rumors that the boy was too young yet for whatever disinhibitor was being used on the Vulcan women. She thought for a moment, and then she remembered. His name was Selim.

She smiled brilliantly at him as he passed, and despite his race he was still enough of a child to respond. He smiled back shyly, pushing the cart toward the storage closet. He was wearing a control collar.

Raijiin turned, followed him to the storage closet and proceeded to help him unload the linens. She leaned toward him and whispered, "Do you know how many other Vulcans are here, Selim?" The boys eyes widened, but he answered her softly, almost inaudibly beneath the Tellurian's vibratory snoring.

"The others were all taken away and sold last week," he replied sadly. "There are only me and T'Mara and V'Sille left."

Raijiin's heart sank. The rest of them could be anywhere in Syndicate space by now. She smiled gently at the boy, trying to seem friendly. "I've been looking for T'Mara and V'Sille to help them get away from here," she whispered, "...but they're not in their rooms. Do you know where they are?" The boy shook his head solemnly, his large dark eyes gleaming liquidly. Raijiin felt a pang of sympathy for him. She'd been sold at about his age, and remembered the feeling of being all alone in a strange place.

"Come on," she told him softly, extending a hand, "I'm Raijiin. Let's go find them."

Selim stared at her hand, and then up at her face uncertainly. After a moment, he gingerly grasped her fingers. The contact completed a link between the two of them, and she gasped, her eyes filling involuntarily as she sensed his intense fear and loneliness. He'd been telling the truth. He had no idea where the women were, but as Raijiin searched his memories she found something useful. He'd seen a hooded man talking to Natolya in the reception hall as he was cleaning up and placing new glasses. He'd seen the man grasp one of the Andorian clients by the shoulder, and the Andorian had slumped over like he was falling. Afterward, the man had carried the Andorian into Natolya's office. He could tell that Natolya was afraid of the hooded man. The boy had detected it, even from across the room. He had fled into the laundry room afterwards, nervous of a stranger who could frighten Mistress Natolya and put someone to sleep with a touch. Evidently, no one had taught this child anything about traditional Vulcan self defense. His empathic abilities were impressive, though.

If Natolya was involved in the girls' escape, it wouldn't have been voluntarily. She had to be either dead or confined somewhere. Either that or the hooded man had transported out and taken her with him. But if the hooded man was a Vulcan come to rescue the Vulcan slaves, why wouldn't he have taken all of the Vulcans with him? Why leave the boy? He would have had to have a secondary objective, one that took precedence over a painstaking search of the premises.

Raijiin thought for a moment, and then she smiled. She knew what he'd been after. It had to be information. She wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of one hand and tugged Selim down the corridor toward the staircase which led to Natolya's office.

#

Senek pulled the loosely fitting uniform jacket over his head. Fortunately, the security guard he'd just abducted was a low ranking male without slaves, and so had no need to display his physical attributes in competition with other males in order to keep his women. His was a lowly position within Orion society, but at least he got to wear clothing that adequately covered him in the always slightly chilly environment of the station. He was wearing a rather shapeless orange tunic top and loose fitting trousers with a billed cap covering his bald green head, or at least he had been before Senek had relieved him of them.

The Orion male lying nearly naked at Senek's feet in the storage locker was very young and still relatively slim. His uniform hung on Senek, but only to the extent that the Vulcan looked like he'd recently been ill. To keep the guard quiet and safely restrained when he awakened from his nerve-pinch induced slumber, Senek had fastened his hands behind his back with the polymer ties that the Orion guards all carried to subdue captured slaves and stuffed his mouth with a sock. The guard's boots were too large for Senek to wear, but he removed and hid them anyway, just to give the fellow something else to occupy his time should he free himself.

He pocketed the Orion's personal communicator, stepped casually out of the storage locker and strode down the corridor toward the last security checkpoint before reaching his goal—Grigor-Tel's oft neglected post as director of security for the station and the warp core reactor room beyond. The weapons controls were there, usually manned by underlings while Grigor-Tel occupied himself with more profitable pursuits. Senek had hoped that once the news of the D'Kyr cruisers' arrival in-system had reached Orion ears Grigor-Tel would be forced to man his battle station. Thus far, his instincts had proven correct, for at each checkpoint the eyes-only information he carried for Grigor-Tel had admitted him one step closer to his final destination. Slaves were not allowed in the tactical room or the reactor room, however, so he'd been forced to get up close and personal with the guard at the last checkpoint. He had to hurry now. The vid loop he'd set up in the security camera at the young Orion's station wouldn't fool them for long.

To his surprise, the final checkpoint was an antiquated swipe-card access system designed to scan the guard's identification badge and open the door to the tactical room. Raising a brow at the unexpected gift of simplicity where he'd anticipated complexity, Senek pulled the small Vulcan phase pistol he'd been carrying all day from out of his belt, extracted the card from the holder clipped to his left breast pocket with the opposite hand, and passed it through the scanner...

#

Daniel paced within the confines of his holding cell on the Vulcan cruiser _Le'Matya_. He'd tried to communicate with his crewmates in the adjoining cell by shouting and pounding on the walls of his cell, but the bulkheads were effectively soundproof. All he'd gained was a scratchy throat, a sore hand, and an evil look from the Vulcan security officer standing in the corridor.

_This is just frakin' great!_ he thought in disgust. _We're about to be in the middle of a battle and all I can do is sit here and wait._ He exhaled forcefully and sat down on the thinly padded bunk in the rear of the cell, flopping backwards onto the almost non-existent pillow with his arms behind his head. The impact with the pillow made him wince. His nose was probably broken, but he'd be damned if he was gonna beg for medical attention.

_At least we'll probably be on the winning side,_ he thought morosely. He wondered what would happen when it was all over. The Vulcan who'd questioned him had made it sound like the best he could hope for was to be separated from his ship and "escorted" back into human space "for his own safety" while the Andorian members of the _Lertieran's_ crew were prosecuted for piracy, or espionage, or whatever trumped up charge the Vulcans could come up with—to the full extent of Vulcan law.

He couldn't really blame the Vulcans for being suspicious and seriously pissed. Although they would never admit it, the D'Kyr cruisers converging on the Orion station were after more than justice. They wanted revenge. According to the information he'd managed to glean from his interrogator, the Plains of Gol had been a ship full of agriculturalists headed for a colony world on the edge of Vulcan space. Vulcan relied heavily on its colonies to produce food for its population, and had done so for hundreds of years since the near-destruction of the planet's ecosystem by decades of war. The ship's passengers had been mostly young, unbonded Vulcan males and females in their physical prime. Along with a few older families with young children to act as examples and guides, they'd been destined for honorable service to the Vulcan people via the tilling of fields and the planting of crops. The young men and women had been Vulcan's brightest and best. The pirates who'd taken them had by all evidence slaughtered those that had fought back without mercy, had kept the strongest males for heavy labor, and had gleaned the most beautiful and the youngest for less strenuous duties before destroying the ship.

Daniel winced as he remembered the expression in the eyes of the Vulcan girl in Grigor-Tel's quarters. Had she been free of her collar, he had no doubt that she would have eviscerated the Orion with the nearest sharp object without thinking twice about it. The cold anger in her eyes had been unlike anything he'd ever seen in a Vulcan. He suddenly felt relieved that he wouldn't be on the station when the Vulcans took control of it. It was probably going to be messy.

#

Grigor-Tel had his eyes fixed on the tactical display.

"Wait until they're within range..." he reminded Sirlea for the fifth time. She cut her eyes at him, biting her tongue and deliberately refraining from attempting to modify his irritating behavior. Her excellent control over the instinctual release of the compounds which fogged men's brains was the only reason why she'd become a trusted member of his tactical team. Losing control now would set her career back years. Of course, given the fact that there were _two_ fully armed Vulcan battle cruisers converging on their position at that moment, she probably didn't have to worry about her career anymore.

_Let him give the orders,_ she reminded herself. _Then he's the one responsible when the Vulcans get here._

"Fire!" ordered Grigor-Tel.

"Fire at will. All stations fire at will," relayed Sirlea as she took the controls of her own station. Her lips tightened in a grim smile as she targeted the lead ship, but its shields held firm. The station shook with the impact of return fire.

"They're targeting weapons placements and engines, sir," commented Harl-Tel, Grigor's nephew and the tech officer responsible for the operation of the infrequently used tactical display. Out of the corner of her eye, Sirlea could see the young man bring up a schematic of the station. Suddenly she heard the doors to the corridor swish open without warning. When the pulse of a phase weapon sounded behind her, she dove from her chair and reached for the sidearm at her belt. She had only a fraction of a second to see both Grigor and his nephew go down, and insufficient time to target her weapon at the junior officer in the oddly fitting uniform before the stun pulse caught her mid chest and everything went black.

#

Senek scanned the room quickly. Two control consoles, a viewscreen, and a lopsided pile of green flesh met his eyes. He threaded his way distastefully around the fallen Orions to the nearest console. Irregular vibrations through the floor informed him that the attack was continuing. He slipped into the seat and inserted the disk with Grigor-Tel's control codes, rapidly pulling up the command access interface.

#

Grigor-Tel blearily cracked open his eyes and tried to focus through the pain. It was impossible. Flesh and blood could not endure this. He closed his eyes again and tried to breathe. Sensation slowly began to return to his extremities, and he realized that at least one person was lying across his legs. That personal shielding armor he had purchased from Phlon the Ferengi wasn't worth a Cardassian's belch. If he ever got his hands on that lying thief, he would hang those flopping ears of his over the headboard of his bed, where he could admire them every night before he went to sleep.

Grigor-Tel gritted his teeth and tried to open his eyes again. Only one of them was in here so far, and he didn't even look like a soldier. Must be an advance scout, sent ahead to sabotage the station. From the look of things he was succeeding, too.

The Orion made a brutally frank assessment of his chances. Sirlea and Harl-Tel were both out, and likely to remain out until the fight was over. Despite his silent curses, the shield he wore had protected him from the worst of the Vulcan's weapon, and his bulk had also helped. But he was on his own now. There was no telling how many more Vulcan agents were on the station. With two state of the art cruisers attacking, crewed no doubt by the best Vulcan killers they had available, Grigor-Tel seriously doubted that his half-trained rabble of raiders and bandits would prevail. Especially given the antique plasma cannon they were using. And now, with a spy busily at work sabotaging the fire controls, defeat was pretty much a foregone conclusion.

Grigor-Tel did not even consider trying to jump the Vulcan while he was distracted. The aging Orion knew his limits. The last time he'd fought a Vulcan 23 years before he had barely escaped with his life and ended up spending a dismally long time recovering from his wounds. Trying it now, as old and fat as he was, would be not only stupid – it would be insane.

The Vulcan was activating the comm system. "Sehlat from Agent Senek. Confirm cannon disabled. Shield and torpedo controls cannot be disabled at this location. I will reposition and report progress. Also confirm at least three targets, with high probability of more."

_Senek from Sehlat. Acknowledged. Proceed." _

Senek closed the connection, reached to his belt and appeared to make a frequency adjustment to the personal communicator he'd stolen from the security guard whose uniform he wore, and then pulled a sonic grenade out of his pocket. Grigor-Tel winced and closed his eyes. He plaintively wished he could at least cover his ears. Surely the Vulcan would dash outside before the thing detonated. With his sensitive hearing, he would almost have to.

He did, just barely in time. The door slid closed, Grigor-Tel snatched his hands up and clamped them over his ears, and the top of the console went flying hard enough to knock loose several ceiling tiles. Even through his meaty hands, Grigor-Tel's abused ears rang with the deafening clangor. He shook his head a few times and painfully climbed to his feet. Sighing, he looked around at the mess, scooped up the nearest sidearm, and headed for the door. Nobody knew this station the way he did. Maybe, just maybe, he could make it to his hidden escape option. That over-powered Klingon recon ship had cost him half of everything he owned. But if it got him out of this alive, it was cheap at twice the price.

#

T'Lar sat back in her command chair and intoned, "Send to the Le'Matya. Maintain this distance and be ready for tactical maneuvering in case of torpedoes. Otherwise, maximum bombardment against their shields. All weapons, continuous fire."

The _ Sehlat _ shook as she released her photon torpedoes. More sophisticated versions of the photonic torpedoes recently adopted by Starfleet, these weapons were faster, more precise, and several times more destructive. They smashed into the station's shields and sent visible ripples of energy waves flowing across the boundary limits of the defensive fields. Simultaneously, the Vulcan disruptors tore through space to rake across the surface of the shields, sparking and slicing their way and leaving darkened wounds behind in their wake – visible evidence of the weakness they had inflicted.

It would not be long now, T'Lar reflected. Whether Agent Senek succeeded or not, the shields would certainly not be able to take much more of this. She estimated 12.4 minimum, 15.3 minutes maximum until the station's defenses were completely inoperative.

And then she could find out the fate of her family.

T'Lar brought herself up harshly and dragged her discipline back to the front of her mind. _ "There is no time for this!" _she thought emphatically.

She was far from the only person who had suffered loss on the Plains of Gol. It was disgracefully self-centered of her to think of her own needs when her crew, and the captives aboard that station, were depending on her. There would be opportunities to deal with her personal family responsibilities later. For now, the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. They were in the middle of a battle. Her personal concerns would wait.

Then Verlen gave them the word they had been waiting for.

"Commander, their shields have just collapsed."

Even aboard a bridge full of Vulcans, the relief was palpable. "Cease fire. Pass the same order to Le'Matya."

"Incoming from the station, Commander. From Agent Senek."

"Put him through."

"_Sehlat from Agent Senek. Confirm shields disabled. Confirm torpedo launch control disabled. Estimate 39 remaining Nausican fighters, 21 Orion males, 13 Orion females, and an unknown number of various race visitors of unknown temperament. I do not have an estimate of the number of slaves." _

"Acknowledged Agent Senek," T'Lar told him. "Our boarding parties will begin arriving in 9 minutes. Activate your homing beacon for pickup."

"_Unable to comply, Commander. I gave my homing beacon to two of the Vulcan captives. They are currently holding an Orion female prisoner. "_ T'Lar raised a brow and had to fight hard to hold back a satisfied smirk. At least someone would have the opportunity for just retribution this day. _" I will attempt to return to that location, as there is a confirmed third Vulcan nearby that still requires retrieval, but if my homing beacon is activated you may proceed with the retrieval of all life forms at those coordinates whether I am present or not . I have appropriated an Orion communication device which I can use to contact you in the event of an emergency." _

"Understood," replied T'Lar. "I have information which indicates that yet another Vulcan captive may be held prisoner in the private quarters of an Orion by the name of Grigor-Tel. I would suggest you investigate this as well," addded T'Lar.

"_Acknowleged, Commander. I will do so_," Senek replied.

T'Lar let the corners of her mouth tighten upward the tiniest bit. She said, "Well done, Agent Senek. You have accomplished your mission with exemplary efficiency. My report will reflect this."

"_Not entirely I fear, Commander. There is a potential loose end that needs further investigation." _

"Explain," T'Lar demanded.

"_Immediately prior to your attack, my presence was detected by a young Human male." _ T'Lar stiffened in her seat. _ "I believe our encounter was accidental. I certainly had no prior knowledge of any Humans on the station, and his expression indicated surprise, even shock, when he detected my presence." _

"Did you speak with him?" T'Lar asked carefully.

"_Negative, Commander. We did not come into direct contact. We saw each other from a distance. When I realized he was Human, I turned to walk away. I looked back and saw him watching me with recognition and astonishment on his face. I can only conclude that he must have identified me by my movements, which would mean that he is either quite familiar with our people, or he has been professionally trained. Or both. " _

"How can you be certain that your interpretation of his reaction is accurate?" T'Lar asked, with a hint of frustration in her voice.

"Commander," a nearby voice interrupted her.

"Just a moment, Agent Senek," she said with resignation, and then rounded on the unexpected interruption with unusual vehemence. "What is it?" she snapped. The unexpectedly sharp reply provoked a blink from the centurion standing nearby, as well as a sharp look from Sub-Commander Verlen. T'Lar got hold of herself. "Yes, Centurion Latora? What do you need?"

The Centurion handed her a PADD without a word. T'Lar glanced at it, and then did a double take. On the PADD was a report from the captain of the Le'Matya concerning the very topic currently under discussion—the Human prisoner, now in a holding cell on his ship. She skimmed the transcript of the prisoner's interrogation briefly, with growing dismay. At least the Human had been willing to provide information regarding the location of one of the Vulcans held captive on the station. Nevertheless, this was a diplomatic incident in the making if she'd ever seen one. She sighed, keyed in the proper authorizations to keep the Human in confinement for his own safety, and handed it back. Contacting the High Council would be the next step, of course—but not now. At the moment there were other priorities. Latora left in silent caution. T'Lar turned back to the comm.

"Continue Senek," she said tiredly.

"_During my early career I spent a number of years on Earth, Commander. I was also involved in multiple operations involving Human ships and colonies. I have confidence in my ability to interpret Human expressions and body language. That young Human did not expect to see a Vulcan here. I attempted to lure him into a private location for interrogation, but I was unsuccessful. I cannot be certain whether he detected my efforts and evaded me, or whether he became nervous and fled. In any case, I recommend that your boarding parties exercise caution. It would be perhaps unwise to kill or injure someone who might potentially be an operative of an ally." _

"Set your concerns at rest, Agent Senek," T'Lar told him. "We have the young Human in custody aboard the _ Le'Matya ."_

"_Custody?" _ The curiosity in his voice came through clearly.

"Yes. Immediately prior to the attack he attempted to escape the station aboard an Andorian freighter, along with two Andorians that he claims are his business partners. His story is that they are simple traders who were fleeing in terror at the sight of our approach. The Andorians tell the same story. None of them are willing to budge from this position. The Human is demanding contact with his government and threatening diplomatic reprisals."

"_And the Andorians?" _

"After identifying themselves, and confirming the Humans' story, they are standing mute," T'Lar said. Just for an instant, she caught herself wistfully wondering why the Humans could not have had the decency to finish the job of blowing themselves up during their last world war. They had come so close after all. If only... She silently chastised herself and got back to business.

"_Perhaps I can be of some assistance with this matter once the station is secured." _

"You aid will be appreciated," T'Lar told him gratefully. "Continue regular progress reports as scheduled. Sehlat out."

#

The corridor shook, nearly knocking Selim off of his feet. It sounded and felt like when he'd been aboard the Plains of Gol during the pirate attack. Behind him, frightened slaves and clients in all manner of dress and undress exited the rooms along the hallway, running toward the main staircase in a panic. The station was under fire.

Selim was frightened but, although small for his age, he was eight years past his Kas-wan—much too old for him to allow fear to control his behavior. He kept his eyes on the back of the woman who held his hand and walked determinedly down the corridor in the opposite direction from the fleeing crowd. What species was she? She looked like pictures he'd seen of human females, but when she touched his hand he felt the touch in his mind. It was familiar. It felt like what his mother did when she was especially concerned about his well-being—like the contact she'd made before the pirates had...

His mind shied away from the thought, and he focused instead on the floor in front of his feet as the woman—she'd called herself Raijiin—led him through a door and down a spiral staircase. The metal steps vibrated as they descended with a rhythmic clanging sound. Dust and fine debris rained down on them from the ceiling.

It was so unfair. Just because his father was old and weak and his mother was no longer young and beautiful, the ugly Orion had shot them—just like that—and had thrown their bodies out an airlock. Selim had been taught that revenge was the refuge of beasts, and that intelligent beings refrained from wasting resources seeking vengeance for offenses that could not be undone. He'd still wanted very badly to rip the Orion's head off with his bare hands. He'd only required one demonstration of the slave collar, however, to realize that revenge was no longer an option. Eight years past his Kas-wan was also too old to allow himself the luxury of tears. His parents were dead. He'd seen the pirate kill them himself. What was done was done .

Raijiin stopped at the base of the stairs, hesitating with her hand on the door. She turned to him. He could see that she was reluctant. She studied him seriously for a moment, and then smiled.

"Can you be brave for me?" she murmured coaxingly.

Selim sighed inwardly. Women were always doing that. Just because he looked so much younger than others his age, they always treated him like a baby.

"I know...Mistress Natolya's office is on the other side of the door," he whispered back tolerantly. "You want me to go in and see if anyone's there?"

Raijiin looked startled, as if she hadn't expected him to understand what was going on.

"Ah...yes," she replied softly, with a slightly shamefaced expression. "I think there's a Vulcan here trying to rescue you. If I go in he might shoot, but if you go in..."

Selim nodded briskly. "I understand," he replied quietly. "Stand back."

Raijiin stepped to one side as requested, with an annoyingly amused look on her face. Selim, on the other hand, was all business. He stood to the other side of the door, the way he'd seen in the vids, and tried the handle. It was locked. Exchanging a glance with Raijiin, who nodded encouragingly, he then rapped sharply on the door with his knuckles, calling out in Vulcan, "Is anyone in there? It is Selim! I have brought help!"

#center/

Grigor-Tel dragged himself through the airlock of the two-man Klingon reconnaissance vessel and dogged the hatch behind him, wheezing from exertion. His ears were still ringing from the seven-times-cursed sonic grenade. He slipped into the specially modified acceleration couch which he'd had installed to replace the two chairs that had originally been there and sighed in relief. Its contours fit his body like a glove.

The Orion strapped himself securely into the couch, then reached out and pulled the pilot's interface out from the console in front of him. He activated the cloaking device, began the launch sequence and then brought the security cameras online as the docking clamps detached with a palpable thud. It was a very small ship, virtually a life pod attached to a tiny impulse engine, with a single ring-style warp nacelle, pirated from the same place that the cloaking device had originated, added almost as an afterthought. Although it was theoretically capable of warp 5, the Klingon engineers who'd designed it had been less than particular about the comfort of its occupants. Grigor-Tel had yet to get it much past warp two without blacking out, but he'd just installed more powerful inertial dampeners. It was time to test them.

As the impulse engines powered up, Grigor-Tel watched the sensor feed of a six-man Vulcan landing party armed with phase rifles jog in formation down the corridor he'd just vacated. Fortunately, none of them took note of what appeared to be a maintenance hatch leading to the loading docks. He'd missed them by less than a minute.

He switched to external sensors. Both D'Kyr cruisers had taken positions within firing range of the station's weapons systems, but the station's cannons were silent. Disruptor beams had traced the weapon placements, destroying them before moving on to the warp nacelles. The Vulcan ships had kept firing long after they'd completely destroyed both the engines and the phase cannons, ceasing only after the total failure of the station's shields became evident. Linking into the station's internal sensors one last time, Grigor-Tel assessed the damage. The warp core remained stable, but with only a single bulkhead between the core and vacuum the station was uninhabitable now. Less than a meter of trilithium, a fragile barrier, protected the station and everyone aboard from complete annihilation. It would have to be evacuated unless major repairs could be made—and quickly—but that was no longer his problem.

It was almost as if the Vulcans were exacting revenge rather than simply disabling the station. He'd expected that, after all the horror stories he'd heard about Vulcan justice, but how had they known about the Vulcan pleasure slaves? All of the Vulcans save the four in his possession were long gone, and he'd told only those he absolutely trusted about his new purchases. The presence of not one but two D'Kyr cruisers implied planning and foresight. The Vulcans had been waiting for something before attacking. That something had to be the objective confirmation of the presence of Vulcan slaves onstation.

Grigor-Tel caught sight of the Lertieran then, the ship that he'd thought destroyed by the Vulcans in their initial attack. It was immobile, but far from destroyed. The timing of the attack was suspicious, and the obvious answer to his question suddenly occurred to him. It had to have been the Human. He'd contacted the Vulcans somehow and convinced them to spare his ship in return for information.

Grigor-Tel cursed softly under his breath. Gritting his teeth, he activated his maneuvering thrusters and pushed the tiny ship free of the station, heading toward the nebula at full impulse. There would be time later for revenge, once he'd gathered his remaining resources. The Human would pay for his betrayal—eventually. He would pay very dearly indeed.

#

Senek pulled the brim of his cap more firmly over his brow as he walked briskly through the station's most exclusive residential area looking for Grigor-Tel's private apartments. He hoped it wasn't already too late. He held the confiscated Orion communication device he'd adjusted to the Sehlat's comm frequency. The need for a rapid beam-out was highly likely.

The internal sensors he'd accessed in the main control room were outdated, but it should have been easy to identify the fourth Vulcan—unless her vital signs no longer fell within publicized Vulcan norms. He had his suspicions about why he'd had difficulty locating her. They didn't bear scrutinizing too closely.

Orion females and their house staff were the only occupants of the hallways. They streamed in hastily constructed but well-loaded caravans from each apartment toward the docking bays, ignoring him in their haste. The males were manning their work stations, leaving the females to do the loading and evacuating, which they appeared to be accomplishing with remarkable efficiency. It was unfortunate for them that the first order of business for the Vulcan battle cruisers after disabling the station's shields would be to gain control of the docking bays. No one would be getting into or out of the station unless cleared through Vulcan security personnel. There would no doubt be many arrests that day, for few Orion Syndicate businesses were completely innocent of violations of Vulcan's strict smuggling laws. The fact that the station hadn't been Vulcan territory until a few moments ago would not deter the more zealous among those who had lost family aboard the Plains of Gol. Senek had no doubt that before the day was out more blood would be shed.

He turned the corner and found the door he was looking for. The access codes from Natolya's computer once again demonstrated their usefulness, and he entered without attracting attention. Locking the door behind him to avoid unpleasant surprises, he turned to face the entrance hall. The apartment was spacious and luxurious, with plush pile carpeting and wall hangings in patterns of bright colors. The light fixtures were made to resemble lighted torches in sconces, with oddly shaped bulbs rather than open flames. The main living space was round, with the look of a primitive nomadic tent, and had cushions scattered about the floor. He half expected a wild green slave girl to jump at him from behind the wall hangings, but the place seemed empty. He lifted his phase pistol and began a systematic search of the premises. Deep growls and gasps, barely audible through the closed door of the bedchamber, led him to her.

She was slightly built and perhaps thirty years of age—just out of girlhood and much too young to be in natural Pon Farr. She wore only a minimal thong and a virtually transparent veil, and was cuffed face down onto a metal table which was bolted to the floor in the center of what appeared to be the Orion's bedchamber. Bent at the waist and draped over the table with her ankles cuffed to the table legs and her wrist cuffs connected by a chain threaded under the table through a ring welded there, she had to strain to lift her head. Her body was drenched in perspiration, and when she saw him she whined like an animal and began to fight the metal cuffs about her wrists, trying to reach for him. Emerald blood spattered as she worked her wrists frantically against the cuffs, her expression begging him to give her what her body craved. She had a look of such pitiable desire on her face that he was forced to avert his eyes to compose himself. He began to assess her restraints without looking at her.

"Try to calm yourself. I will attempt to free you," he told her gruffly.

"Please..." she whispered almost inaudibly. He looked up in surprise. Those in plak tau rarely spoke. Her eyes weren't on his face anymore. They were locked on the phase pistol on his belt. Her jaw tightened in determination as she attempted to coherently communicate her wishes.

"Shoot...kill me...," she demanded through clenched teeth, struggling now to reach the weapon.

"That won't be necessary. I'm getting you out of here," he replied flatly. He reached for one of her wrist cuffs. She struggled, trying to free her arm from his grip.

"Danger...go," she panted. "Not finished... coming back..."

Senek understood, then, the enormity of the obscenity that Grigor-Tel had committed. He'd been interrupted in his pleasures by the call to battle stations, and rather than administering the antidote to his newest concubine and releasing her bonds, he'd left her this way, slowing dying the most humiliating death possible for a Vulcan to suffer in order that he might not be inconvenienced in the event that the battle stations klaxon had been a false alarm. The contemptible beast deserved a slow and agonizing death. Senek wished now that he had ensured Grigor-Tel's death during his attack on the weapons station. Shooting him twice would have been wise, given his bulk.

He eyed the young woman, who still hyperventilated as she strained her neck to keep a watch on the door. Then he knelt by the table eye-to-eye with her, collected himself, and reached out two fingers toward her bloodstained hand. As their fingertips met he projected calmness and control with all of his might. Despite his best efforts, her blood fever burned through him painfully, wrenching an involuntary gasp before he brought his reaction under control. Her eyes, wild and pleading, fixed themselves on his face as she panted and whimpered.

"I am Senek, son of K'Ton," he told her calmly in a soothing monotone. "I am here to help you. I will not allow harm to come to you. Grigor-Tel is not coming. I shot him myself." The girl's projection of bloodthirsty joy caused his lips to twitch upward grimly. "Now... focus on my face and try to slow your breathing... slowly... that's right," he said soothingly. Her hand pressed against his relaxed minutely as she tried valiantly to do as he instructed. He projected approval. The intensity of the desire washing through him decreased a fraction.

"What should I call you?" he asked her softly. Her eyes closed as she struggled visibly for control.

"Subcenturian T'Riss, daughter of... Solar..." she managed between whimpers. He nodded respectfully, and addressed her as if she were standing before him in full dress uniform.

"Subcenturian, report! Where does your captor store the viral agent?" The girl licked her lips, her eyes focused on their joined hands. She began to stroke his wrist with her fingertips.

"Under the bed..." she whispered indifferently, her attention entirely focused on the sensation of his skin gliding against hers. The contact was mesmerizing, and Senek found himself suddenly wanting to give in to the feeling of skin on skin...

He pulled away abruptly, wresting a cry of protest from the girl, and staggered toward the bed. Her plak tau was affecting him. He had to get them out of there.

Getting down to hands and knees, he pulled a locked chest from beneath the bed and blasted it open with his phase pistol. The girl's whimpers were growing louder in the absence of contact with him. He reached into the chest. None of the vials were marked. He had no way of knowing which were the antidotes and which were the virus, so he pocketed them all. To his disappointment, there was no key to the cuffs in the chest.

Then he turned toward the table. T'Riss was struggling again, bloodily abrading her wrists and ankles on the edges of her metal cuffs. He pulled out his phase pistol and proceeded to cut both the chain binding her wrist cuffs and the legs of the table above her ankle cuffs from across the room. She made swift work of the table remnants, throwing them against the wall with uncanny strength before launching herself at him. He activated the Orion communicator, twisting his head aside so that her hungry mouth found his neck instead of his lips. She wrapped both legs around his hips and both arms about his neck, sucking avidly at his skin and rubbing her body against his as he spoke urgently in a strangled voice.

"Senek to Sehlat. Two to beam up... directly to Sickbay."

#

T'Mara exchanged a look of surprise with her counterpart. A childish voice speaking in Vulcan with the distinct accent of the Shir'Khar region was the last thing she expected to hear from the other side of the back door to Natolya's office. Selim must have freed himself somehow—or perhaps it was a trap. V'Sille ceased her meditative contemplation of their captive and lowered the razor sharp knife with which she'd been paring her fingernails, picking up a phase pistol from the desktop.

"Let me in!" insisted the youngster through the door. "It is safe. Raijiin wants to help us."

T'Mara said nothing, but she rose from her chair holding a phase pistol and motioned for V'Sille to do the same. They flanked the door, which opened into the stairwell, and then V'Sille unlocked it.

"Enter slowly. Keep your hands visible," called T'Mara.

Selim led the way. He appeared uninjured. He was still wearing his slave collar and a simple white linen shift. The woman Raijiin, collarless and apparently weaponless as well, followed him in a silken bathrobe. She appeared perfectly harmless, but T'Mara knew that looks could be deceiving. She gestured with the phase pistol from the woman to the settee opposite the chair where Natolya was bound and gagged.

"Sit," she commanded abruptly. To her credit, Raijiin made no protest, but did as she was bid. V'Sille held her weapon steadily on the woman while T'Mara turned to the boy. He appeared unafraid. Although he looked very young, T'Mara had met him and his parents previously on the Plains of Gol and knew that he was older and more mature than he seemed to be. His calmness in the current situation was nevertheless impressive.

"Are you well?" T"Mara inquired softly. "Did the woman coerce or injure you in any way?"

The boy looked surprised. "Raijiin?" he asked incredulously, "Why would she do that? She's a slave. She wants to get out of here just as much as we do!"

T'Mara raised a brow and glanced at the pleasure slave sitting calmly under V'Sille's watchful eye. T'Mara had seen her frequently during the weeks of their imprisonment. She didn't look like she wanted to escape. As a matter of fact, her collarless state and the efficiency with which she customarily plied her trade seemed to suggest otherwise.

"You must not trust her, Selim," replied T'Mara under her breath. "She is not like us. She enjoys what she does." The boy shook his head vigorously.

"No she doesn't!" he protested. "I can feel that she doesn't!" T'Mara blinked a bit at that. Was the boy a melder?

"T'Mara?" V'Sille's voice sounded odd. T'Mara turned, and was confronted by the muzzle of V'Sille's phase pistol. V'Sille looked puzzled, as if she didn't know how she'd managed to get herself into such a predicament. The woman Raijiin had her hand on V'Sille's shoulder.

"It's all right, V'Sille," she murmured soothingly into the Vulcan's ear from behind. V'Sille visibly relaxed, but her phase pistol remained leveled at T'Mara. Raijiin's eyes met T'Mara's coolly. She continued to speak softly to V'Sille. "As soon as T'Mara lays aside her phase pistol, we will all be safe, and you may lower yours," she said.

"What have you done to her?" growled T'Mara through clenched teeth. She customarily possessed excellent emotional control, but this place was taking a toll on her reserves.

"Merely a demonstration," replied Raijiin with a pleasant smile. She winked reassuringly at Selim. T'Mara glowered at her. V'Sille still looked vaguely surprised but her pistol never wavered. "Think about this logically for a moment," Raijiin continued reasonably to T'Mara. "If I wanted you dead, you would be. If I wanted Natolya freed, it would be done. Obviously, I want neither of those things."

T'Mara refrained from asking the obvious, and glared at the woman. She trained her weapon at Raijiin's head, over V'Sille's shoulder. "This weapon is set to kill," she reminded Raijiin. The pleasure slave nodded and smiled.

"As is V'Sille's. A pretty stand-off, don't you think?" she commented casually. "But neither of us want to traumatize the boy any more than he's already been traumatized, so let me get to my point," she added. She stroked V'Sille's shoulder softly and then stepped behind her. The Vulcan stood firm, topping her by a head and effectively shielding Raijiin from harm unless T'Mara was willing to kill V'Sille to get to her. Then Raijiin said, "This place is a dead end for me. Changes of command never go well for pleasure slaves, and if it's your people attacking, business here just became very bad all around for anyone in my line of work. I can get us all out if you'll cooperate with me. All I want in return is passage to Risa."

T'Mara stared at the woman. She couldn't know about the homing beacon, and seemed sincere in her offer to assist them in their escape. In a less life threatening situation, it might have been interesting to see how she intended to accomplish that task. The strangest idea began to take shape in her mind, prompted, no doubt, by her weakness for Human "spy novels"—but a loud banging on the outer door and guttural shouts in Nausican-accented Orion interrupted her train of thought.

"Open the door, Natolya! We are under attack! We need weapons!"

"It's the armory cabinet they're after," commented Raijiin. "It's over there." She jerked her head, indicating the armoire in the back of the room from which Selek had already appropriated their phase pistols and a set of sonic grenades. Raijiin couldn't know that, though, and her willingness to come forward with the information finally convinced T'Mara to trust her—within reason. She lowered her phase pistol. Raijiin smiled wryly and nodded. V'Sille blinked, and then lowered her pistol as well, turning to glare at the small blonde woman behind her. Raijiin gave her a regretful smile. "Sorry, dear. It was necessary," she whispered in apology. .

In the midst of the sound of the outer door being beaten off its hinges by a mob of angry Nausicans, the tone of the homing beacon activating was barely audible. When the guards finally succeeded in entering the room, it was empty.

#

"Commander T'Lar, we find this news disturbing, "said Minister of Defense Kuvak seriously. "After a brief discussion with the Chief Minister and her cabinet, the High Council has deemed it necessary to involve Starfleet. Keep the Human in protective custody and await further instructions." The old man faced T'Lar on the vid screen for a second longer with his lips pursed as if he meant to say something else, then he appeared to think better of it, shaking his head minutely and exhaling heavily as the console went dark. She raised a brow. That had been cryptic, even for a Vulcan.

She brought up progress reports on the console in her ready room as she waited for the Chief Medical Officer to contact her. It would not be appropriate for her to rush to Sickbay to see her brother. The medical evaluation of his physical condition came first. Once she was certain of his well-being, she would be less distracted. And so she focused on her work.

Less than one hour into the occupation of the Orion station by Vulcan forces, events were proceeding with surprising smoothness. Teams of Vulcan security officers were positioned at various locations throughout the station, processing the station's occupants and classifying them as slave or free, prosecutable or not, and holding areas had been set up to aid in the expeditious evacuation of all living beings. An engineering team was working to reinforce the single bulkhead which kept the station's warp core from exploding. The Orion Syndicate's prize possession was now in fragile but stable condition—a description which also fit what T'Lar had now begun to privately think of as "The Human Situation."

She'd been told very little, but she could imagine the discussions within the High Council chambers since she'd broken the news. The questions were too numerous to count. Who was this Human? Who was he working for? Why was he here—and with Andorians of all people? What did this mean for Human/Vulcan relations? This Human was evidently a Boomer. Were the Boomers allying themselves with Andoria and against Vulcan? What would Starfleet do if this were the case? Would they attempt suppression of the self-proclaimed rebels? The prospect of a Human civil war made her vaguely ill. Vulcan had been the test case. No good could possibly come of it.

"Sickbay to Commander T'Lar."

The sudden sound made her jump. She gritted her teeth and reached to activate the comm. More meditation was definitely in order.

"T'Lar here."

"Selim wishes to see you, Commander. Also, Subcenturion T'Riss is stable and is asking to speak with you." The surprise in the doctor's voice was evident even over the comm. T'Lar could understand his response. Hadn't the woman been in near-fatal plak tau when she arrived on board?

"I'm on my way," she responded.

#

"So...what you're asking us to do is to enter Orion Syndicate space and publicly identify ourselves as the ally of a ship that's just openly attacked one of their stations?" asked Jonathan Archer in disbelief. "Forgive me for saying so, Admiral...but that sounds pretty damned stupid to me." He crossed his arms over his chest as he sat facing the viewscreen in his cabin dressed in sweatpants and a T-shirt. He wasn't in a very good mood. Being awakened at 0400 ship's time for some ridiculous diplomatic emergency tended to do that to him.

Admiral Green smiled wryly. "The Orion syndicate has denied all culpability for the abduction and murder of Vulcan citizens and has officially given the station over to Vulcan hands so that justice may be served. They don't want war with Vulcan any more than the rest of us do. The Vulcans might be peaceful now, but they cut their baby teeth as a race finding new and better ways to kill each other. The Orions won't bother you."

Archer nodded, raising a hand to rub thoughtfully at his stubbled chin. "So...what exactly do you want us to do when we get there?"

"Just find out who this Boomer is and why he's trying to start a war," said Green matter-of-factly. "If you can get the Vulcans to agree to hand him over, that would be a bonus. Then we can find out what he knows."

"And what if he's as innocent as he claims to be?" asked Archer.

The admiral laughed dryly. "A Boomer working as crew on an Andorian freighter in Orion Syndicate space? How innocent could he possibly be?"

#

T'Lar entered Sickbay slightly out of breath. She justified her haste by reminding herself that debriefing the subcenturion was of paramount importance, and then forgot all about that unfortunate officer when she saw Selim. The weeks since his capture had not been kind to her youngest brother. Always a small and sickly child since his premature birth, Selim was now ethereally thin, as if a strong breeze might blow him away. His eyes, usually large in his small face, were huge and dark-ringed, as if he hadn't slept well for weeks. He looked so young and fragile. And he was entirely her responsibility now, she'd discovered. The Orion who'd purchased the slaves gleaned from The Plains of Gol had kept meticulous records which had already been discovered by one of the boarding parties in their examination of the station's computer files. Her parents had been discarded, declared "of no commercial value" and thrown away like refuse. The anger she'd forced herself to suppress since that discovery resurfaced when she saw what they'd done to her brother.

"The device is deactivated. The micro-fibers remain within your brain, though, so come to me if you experience headaches," said the doctor softly to the boy as he pulled the slave collar from his neck. Selim nodded solemnly, wide-eyed, rubbing where the collar had been. T'Lar approached the examination table and cleared her throat.

Selim turned, and smiled briefly in honest joy before recovering his discipline. T'Lar forgave him readily. He'd obviously not been allowed time for sufficient meditation, and he was still very young. The doctor turned away and pulled the curtain to grant them privacy. She extended a hand to touch her brother's smooth, warm cheek. The boy had always been unusually sensitive to emotions transmitted by touch. There was no need to express emotions outwardly when skin to skin contact allowed them to share both their sorrow at the loss of their parents and their joy at seeing each other again. Her lips quirked upward minutely in response to his childish pleasure and her eyes moistened in response to his pain. He placed his hand atop hers for a moment.

"I am pleased to see thee again, T'Lar. I grieve with thee over the loss of our parents," he said in his most mature tones. T'Lar's pride in him welled in her chest, threatening to overcome her.

"I grieve with thee also, my brother," she said thickly. She tried to say more, but the words wouldn't come. He reached out and took her other hand, holding it tightly, and tugged on it, convincing her with silently pleading dark eyes to climb up onto the table and sit beside him. Then he leaned his small head against her shoulder. She held him. It was better than meditation. He soothed her soul.

End of Episode One


	2. Chapter 2a

**The Lerteiran Chronicles **

**Episode Two: Friendly Persuasion **

**By Blacknblue and 2Distracted**

**Genre: Action Adventure and just a tad of romance (eventually)**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Disclaimer: We don't own the Star Trek universe. We just go there to play. Honest. However, we do own our original characters and story ideas. You are welcome to borrow them, as long as no money changes hands. If we can't make anything from this, nobody else gets to either.**

**Summary: Our second excursion into left field, in which we find out that, even for Vulcans, desperate times often call for desperate measures. **

#######################

_Grigor-Tel rested his moist, fleshy hand casually in the small of her naked back as he applied the hypospray to the side of her neck. The guards were forbidden to enter his bedchamber, so he kept her chained to the table, ever mindful of his own safety after the first time she'd tried to kill him. The skin to skin contact made her flesh crawl as his surface thoughts, always of unspeakable things whenever he touched her, were transmitted clearly to her without her volition. She fought her bonds as the viral agent began stripping her control from her, the fear welling up first, and then, despite her utter disgust, the involuntary passion. She whimpered. He chuckled._

"_Never fear, my lovely. I'm coming," he told her, stepping back and giving her a moment of welcome respite from the filth in his mind. To her dismay, though, she could still sense his presence. T'Riss ground her teeth together and tried to block him out with all of her strength. It had to be the viral agent causing the mating bond-like effect. The alternative was unthinkable._

_His pants of exertion as he struggled with his clothing, for he was too grossly obese even to bend and unfasten his boots without effort, heralded the beginning of the evening-an evening which would, as usual, end in pleasure for her captor and utter humiliation for his Vulcan slave. _

_Her gorge rose as she felt him approach, felt his depraved thoughts within her consciousness, and realized with dawning horror that he hadn't even touched her yet..._

"Subcenturion? Are you awake? Commander T'Lar is here, as you requested."

The voice was a welcome intrusion. She had no desire to relive the memories which sleep had brought to the fore. She opened her eyes. The professionally concerned face of the physician who'd recently saved her life filled her field of vision. She schooled her features into a semblance of socially appropriate control. Inwardly, though, she was still in turmoil. It was impossible to ignore the fact that a part of her still sensed Grigor-Tel's distant presence.

"Yes, Doctor." Her gaze shifted beyond the solemn figure in healer's robes to find a Vulcan female, in command of the vessel they were currently aboard judging from the insignia on her uniform. T'Riss straightened her posture, sitting bolt upright in bed despite her weakened condition.

"Subcenturion T'Riss, most recently of the _Plains of Gol_, reporting for duty, Commander."

The commander eyed her with one brow raised. "Your dedication to duty is commendable, Subcenturion," she said hesitantly. Her eyes cut to the physician at her side. "I would, however, prefer you to be fully recovered before returning to duty." The doctor nodded his agreement.

T'Riss took a deep breath. She faced the two of them and opened her mouth, but the words wouldn't come. She looked away, gathering her courage. She could see Commander T'Lar and the doctor exchanging wary looks. If she didn't manage to say something soon, they'd assume she'd been mentally damaged. T'Riss wasn't at all sure they'd be entirely wrong in making that assumption, but her condition was easily remedied. She faced them again.

"I would like permission to take a shuttle, Commander. I know where Grigor-Tel is. He must be brought to justice. I can find him. I can... sense him." She paused, swallowing, trying to remain composed. "He must be executed for his crimes, and then I will be free," she said stoutly. Then she waited, teeth clenched as she fought to remain upright in bed despite her exhaustion.

"Free?" inquired the doctor in a puzzled voice.

Commander T'Lar's eyes widened. T'Riss locked gaze with her. The commander understood. There was sympathy in her eyes as she said, "Sedate her so that she is able to rest, Doctor. I'll debrief her more thoroughly in the morning."

T'Riss was too exhausted to protest further. She fell into a drugged slumber after the sedative, and to her profound relief there were no more dreams.

#

Commander T'Lar stood contemplating the unconscious young officer. It served no purpose for her to remain in Sickbay just watching the girl sleep, but the problem of what to do with the traumatized young woman was nagging at her.

Healer Tyvek, stolid and blandly polite as usual, approached the bed. "Is there something else I can do for you, Commander?" he asked pointedly.

His question brought the logic of her behavior into question. She pursed her lips in thought. He was probably correct. She relied on his absolute objectivity and his complete lack of imagination. He kept her focused on reality when "what if's" pulled at her attention. Her tendency to extrapolate from known facts was an asset in trying to predict the behavior of her opponent in a combat situation, but the myriad possibilities paralyzed her at times. Seeing things in black and white through Tyvek's eyes gave her a respite from uncertainty.

"Do you think she's telling the truth, or has she been subverted?" she asked. "She could be attempting to lead us into a trap."

"The stability of her brainwave scan during her statement reinforces her claim. She at least believes that she is telling the truth," he replied.

"But...a mating bond with a non-Vulcan? An involuntary one at that..." persisted T'Lar. It was impossible for her to hide her disgust.

"The Science Directorate has determined that true mating bonds between Vulcans and non-Vulcans are impossible," said Tyvek flatly. "The most logical explanation is that she is delusional."

T'Lar wasn't convinced, but she was willing to defer the decision to his medical expertise-for now. "Your recommendations?" she asked.

"Allow her to assist with the investigation, but do not allow her to return to full duty until she has been evaluated by a licensed mental healer capable of healing melds," he replied with certainty.

T'Lar raised a brow, surprised. "You advocate a healing meld? It will be difficult to find a healer capable of such an antiquated procedure."

"It is the only way to definitely prove that she is delusional," he countered. "Faced with the incontrovertible proof of her mental instability, she will be forced to accept her condition. Improvement will follow."

T'Lar's brow wrinkled. "And what if she isn't delusional? She might be able to help us locate the Orion primarily responsible for the brutal torture of at least three Vulcan citizens... and perhaps the murder of others."

"Extremely unlikely... but a meld would shed light on that question as well," replied the doctor reasonably.

T'Lar nodded reluctantly. It was a safer approach. Sending a potentially mentally unstable officer on a mission to capture the person responsible for her torture and sexual abuse did seem a plan which was fraught with the possibility of disaster.

"Very well. Please contact Vulcan and request a qualified individual. I will have the quartermaster issue her a uniform," said T'Lar.

#

Daniel snorted in wry amusement and continued his ongoing campaign of harassment.

"You mean they're mobilizing _ Enterprise_ to come all the way out here over this?" He chuckled. "That's the most ridiculous thing I ever heard of. I thought you wanted to keep this quiet. So instead, now you have Earth's most advanced warship hauling ass all the way out here to dive into the middle of things." He grinned nastily. "Logic, thy name is Vulcan."

Jenrali squeezed his lips together tightly to force back the words, but his pale eyes were dancing. Sehlra had her face buried in one hand and was making muffled snickering noises. The darling boy had been applying the needle to their captors incessantly ever since the three of them were escorted from their cells into the briefing room. The two Andorians had never really expected to survive the first night after their capture. Both of them were veterans of the last war, and their Guard training had conditioned them to be ready for the worst.

Instead, the greenbloods had tossed them into adjacent cages and left them to rot and wonder. Sehlra, at least, had felt relieved to know that the wait was over. Even if it meant that they were going to their executions. But instead, here they were - sitting across from a pair of stone faced greenbloods and listening to Daniel give them a tongue lashing that would put a drill instructor to shame. _ And the Vulcans were taking it_. Neither of them had so much as raised a hand to any of them. It was the most delightful thing the old woman had ever witnessed.

The older looking Vulcan, a skinny looking nondescript male with a bedraggled cloak, stirred himself and murmured, "The logic is actually quite straightforward, Mr. Johansen. We have no desire to allow this situation to escalate beyond the current area. Therefore, the High Council requested Starfleet's intervention in order to settle this matter here and now."

Daniel pulled on his lower lip thoughtfully. "Settle this matter? Here and now? And you think you need Starfleet's help with that, do you? It simply never occurred to you to admit that you made a mistake?" He shook his head. "Of course not. What am I saying? You're Vulcans. Vulcans don't make mistakes, by definition." He sighed and leaned back with his eyes closed."

Commander T'Lar's face tightened. After introducing herself as the leader of the Task Force, she had said very little during Daniel's spiel. Now she spoke between tightened lips, "We have been very patient, Mr. Johansen. If we were the unreasonable dictators that you imply, we would have already condemned the three of you. Instead, we are attempting to provide every benefit of the doubt, but even races as devout in their adherence to the principles of illogic as Humans and Andorians must be capable of perceiving how suspicious your situation appears to us."

Daniel grinned back. "Touché, Madam. And I do recognize that the Vulcan government operates under the principle of guilty until proven innocent, and then only if the accused has the proper political connections. I suppose we really should be grateful that you haven't gotten around to shooting us yet."

Senek winced. "I regret that your distrust has a basis in fact, young man. However, since the removal of the V'Las administration and the installation of the new High Council, we are attempting to renovate our government in order to achieve a system more in line with Surak's original teachings. The simple fact of the matter is this - under the old High Command you would in fact already have been shot."

"Would we really?" Daniel mused ironically. "I wonder. I really do. Since you're uncertain enough to call in _Enterprise _ for this, you obviously have some concern about potential fallout. I'm not sure that even V'Las would have ordered us shot. As for your claims of turning over a new leaf, I'll believe them when I see them. So far, I haven't seen them." T'Lar's lips pursed at that. She evidently disliked being compared to the likes of V'Las.

Sehlra's delight over Daniel's outrageous behavior vanished. She could see that the Vulcan commander was becoming very annoyed, and tried to catch Daniel's eye to warn him. He seemed otherwise occupied, studying the woman with intensity. Sehlra sighed inwardly. The impetuousness of youth was likely to get them all into even more trouble, unless it resulted in the Vulcans getting so exasperated with Daniel that they freed them all simply to get rid of him.

#

"Enough," announced T'Lar finally, and abruptly pushed a button. Daniel noted that she used a trifle more force than was strictly necessary. For a Vulcan, that spoke volumes. He smiled even wider. He kept smiling until the door slid aside, and he saw the woman walk into the briefing room. Then he lost all sense of amusement.

She was wearing a good deal more clothing than the last time he has seen her. Instead of a thong and a veil, the Vulcan girl had put on a subcenturion uniform. Her hair was neatly styled in typical Vulcan military fashion. Daniel had only seen her face in the brief glimpse that Grigor-Tel had allowed, but her features were burned into his memory - as was the expression of pain that had carved itself deep into her face.

This time, the young woman wore an expression much closer to the standard Vulcan mask of indifference. It was far from perfect, though. Echoes of what she had endured were plain to read for anyone who was accustomed to interpreting emotional cues. Still, she looked a lot better. She stood as straight as before, but not stiff with fear anymore. Instead, she held herself with relaxed pride. Daniel felt himself begin to relax just a little bit.

He stood up and bowed, not waiting for introductions. "Greetings, ma'am. It's gratifying to see you again under much more pleasant circumstances."

The young woman twitched one eyebrow and glanced at T'Lar, who inclined her head. The subcenturion raised one hand, palm forward, and divided her fingers. "Peace and long life to you. I am Subcenturion T'Riss, formerly of the _Plains of Gol_. I am told that you are the one who informed Agent Senek of my whereabouts on the station."

Daniel fumbled awkwardly for words, conscious of the four sets of eyes watching him silently. "I... uh... yeah. But anyone would have. I mean, they would have found you anyway." He added in a hurry, "I'm sorry I couldn't talk Grigor-Tel into letting you come with me. I was hoping maybe we could smuggle you off before he caught us. That's why I said what I did." He held his breath and waited. Would she believe him? If not, they might all be royally screwed.

T'Riss sat down and considered briefly. "Logical. Unfortunately, Grigor-Tel was most... possessive." She paused, swallowing and obviously maintaining her control only with great effort. The other Vulcans sat impassively, waiting for her to continue. Daniel smiled at her weakly, trying to encourage her—as if a Vulcan needed encouragement. Surprisingly, she nodded at him, seeming to acknowledge his support. "It was an honorable effort. As for anyone else finding me, that may be true. But it is doubtful that they would have found me in time to save my life had you not provided the necessary information. I thank you."

Daniel flushed and looked down, trying to find something to say. While he groped for words, Senek broke in.

"Subcenturion," the older Vulcan inquired carefully, "what exactly did Mr. Johansen do as an effort to remove you from Grigor-Tel's custody?" Daniel winced and eyed the door plaintively.

T'Riss turned toward the head of the table and took a deep breath. She did a fair job of maintaining her composure, although her voice did waver a bit in spots. "Mr. Johansen was meeting with Grigor-Tel to discuss trade matters. After their traditional meal, I was brought out and displayed as a trophy." She paused to regain her equanimity. Daniel squeezed his eyes shut. He really did not want to know how the two Vulcans were reacting to this part.

After a few seconds T'Riss continued. "Mr. Johansen reacted to my entrance instantly. However, unlike previous guests of Grigor-Tel's, he did not react with sexual arousal." She glanced over at Daniel, who was still looking down. "From his scent and body language, I deduced his reaction was a mixture of discomfort and fear."

"Interesting," Senek murmured. "Because you were a Vulcan?"

"I am not certain," T'Riss admitted. "At the time, my face was covered."

Senek traded a look with T'Lar. "Continue."

"Grigor-Tel took great pride..." Her face contorted. The other two politely averted their eyes while she regained control. "He took great pride in his acquisition of Vulcan pleasure slaves. He told Mr. Johansen about capturing our ship, and our people. At this point, Mr. Johansen's scent intensified significantly. I am not familiar with Humans, but it was very similar to the scent of other slaves I had encountered with iron based blood when they were terrified."

"Damn straight I was scared!" Daniel broke in. "We had already spotted your ship out by the Horn nebula on our way into the station, and wondered what you were doing there. But we didn't say a word to anyone on the station, did we? If we had, you would never have been able to take them by surprise, would you?" He paused to catch his breath, while the three Vulcans watched him with interest. "Then, when that fat fool told me what he had done, I remembered seeing him," he nodded at Senek, "... and knew that you were about to blast the station into dust. So we bailed out and started running like hell to get out of the way." He stopped to breathe and ran a hand over his face.

"And you attempted to take Subcenturion T'Riss with you?" Senek asked mildly.

"Yeah," Daniel answered, for once not feeling cocky. "I pretended to Grigor-Tel that I wanted to borrow her. I hoped that if we could get her off the station it might prove our good will to you, and maybe keep you from killing us."

"As the subcenturion noted, a logical plan," Senek nodded approvingly.

"It didn't work," Daniel muttered.

"That does not detract from the fact that you made the effort," Senek pointed out. He glanced at T'Lar, who was gazing at Daniel thoughtfully.

"It does begin to appear that you and your associates might not have had prior knowledge of the attack on the _Plains of Gol_, " she admitted. Jenrali let his hand drop to the table with a thump.

"By the Great Mother herself! We have been trying to get that through your heads from the first moment you captured us," he growled. "Now what about my ship? You ruined our engines, and there is no way that we can make our run to Alembra now. Even if you towed us there, we couldn't make it in time to meet deadline."

"This matter is not completely settled," T'Lar proclaimed with an edge. "I said that it begins to appear that you might not have had prior knowledge. A final determination has not yet been made." Jenrali's face started turning violet and he clenched both fists. Sehlra reached over and grabbed one of his hands, whispering something into his ear.

"And what exactly are you going to require before you're willing to acknowledge that fire is hot and water flows downhill?" Daniel asked wearily.

"In your case," Senek took up the slack, "the High Council and Starfleet have agreed that, as a citizen of Earth, your situation falls under Starfleet jurisdiction. Therefore you will remain here until _Enterprise_ arrives."

"Bullshit!" Daniel exploded. "I'm a Boomer. I am not under Starfleet jurisdiction!" He failed to notice T'Lar's jaw tighten at this comment. "The fact that I'm listed as a citizen of Earth is merely a bureaucratic formality because I was an orphan. Space orphans are always listed as citizens of the homeworld. It's irrelevant. Besides, this is the Syndicate. It's not under Human _OR_ Vulcan jurisdiction."

"This ship is Vulcan," T'Lar said firmly. "It is most definitely under Vulcan jurisdiction. As long as you are aboard this ship, you are subject to Vulcan law."

"If you hadn't pirated our ship and kidnapped us, we wouldn't _BE_ aboard this ship!" Sehlra finally blew her top. "Do you have any idea how long it's going to take me to rebuild the damage you inflicted on my engines?"

T'Lar kept her composure. "That raises a valid issue. On review of the incident report..."

"Incident?" Jenrali interjected bitingly.

"...incident report," T'Lar resumed smoothly as if no one had spoken, "I find that the commander of the _Le'Matya_ violated standard procedure in that he failed to offer you the option of surrender prior to opening fire. He has been reprimanded for this. Since it seems likely that you would have surrendered if given the chance to do so, we must accept responsibility for the damage done to your vessel. Our repair teams have already begun work on restoring your systems."

"I don't suppose you could see fit to upgrade us while you're at it?" Daniel asked flippantly, by sheer reflex.

T'Lar gave him a dirty look, but Senek's lips quirked. "Since your ship is rather aged, it is likely that some of the components we will be forced to use may in fact be more advanced than the originals. However, we will attempt to restore your ship to a condition as close to its original specifications as possible."

Sehlra blinked and opened her mouth, then shut it firmly. She looked at Jenrali, who squirmed for a minute in discomfort. Finally he sighed and said, "It wasn't up to original spec when you hit us. _Lerteiran_ is still a good, solid ship but... showing its age. I can't honorably claim otherwise."

"As we have no way of estimating the degree to which age has compromised your ship's functions," T'Lar said, "we will make no attempt to allow for this. We will simply make the repairs. If your honor is offended at having your ship returned to you in better condition than it was, feel free to damage it afterward at your leisure."

Daniel coughed to distract the Vulcans while Sehlra made a valiant effort to hold Jenrali back. "Thank you," he said. "I believe _Lerteiran's_ original top cruising speed was warp 4.5 or thereabouts. That should help us gain a competitive edge." He shot Jenrali a glare, which assisted in settling him down. Not that Sehlra was having any real difficulty, Daniel noticed. It was amazing what a sharp pinch between two fingernails at the base of the antenna would do for an Andorian's attitude.

"Meanwhile," Daniel shifted into a placating tone, "since our ship isn't going anywhere, how about letting us move back aboard her? Unless you've disabled life support?"

T'Lar's eyes narrowed. "No. Not you at any rate. My orders are quite clear with respect to your case, Mr. Johansen. You are to remain in protective custody until _Enterprise_ arrives." She turned to the Andorians. "However, I have no objections if your shipmates wish to return to their quarters aboard their ship."

"Yes!" the simultaneous chorus left no room for doubt. Jenrali went on, "But we are not going anywhere until Daniel is freed." His expression was not in any way friendly.

"This matter is no longer your concern," T'Lar told him imperiously. "It is between Vulcan and Earth."

"No way!" Daniel stood up again. "I have violated no laws of any kind. Vulcan has no right to hold me, since as you insist on pointing out I am a citizen of Earth. Starfleet has no right to hold me, since I have done nothing wrong. And neither of you has any right to prevent me from conducting my lawful business, unless Starfleet wants to start claiming the right to regulate every Boomer ship. I don't think they want to try that!"

T'Lar's face froze. "That is not a matter for Vulcan to address. I have my orders. However, since no evidence has yet been found to indicate that you were involved in the attack on the _Plains of Gol_, I am willing to offer you standard quarters aboard this ship - on the condition that you provide your word that you will abide by all rules and regulations of this ship and obey all orders."

Daniel sighed and sat down. "What choice do I have? Maximum security prison or minimum security prison? I'll take minimum security prison. You have my word." He was tired.

Jenrali's antennae drew back and pointed toward each other. All three Vulcans tensed, and Sehlra started watching warily. The captain of the _Lerteiran_ spoke slowly and carefully. "Daniel Johansen is a member of my crew." He stopped for a moment to let the words hang in the air. "If you know anything about my people, you know what that means. You said that it was none of our concern." He looked intently at both T'Lar and Senek. "Neither of you are stupid enough to believe that." Jenrali stood up. "Until the Oath of Partnership is dissolved, Daniel is one of us. Dead or alive, he is one of us. Here, on Vulcan, or on Earth. It doesn't matter that he is a pinkskin. It wouldn't even matter if he was a greenblood. What matters is the oath we took together. Daniel has kept his oath. We will keep ours while warmth remains in us. Remember that."

He looked at Sehlra, who stood up. The two of them nodded to Daniel and walked out, accompanied by their guards. A moment of silence followed. _"It's good to have family_," Daniel thought fondly, looking at the door.

T'Lar told the remaining guard, "Escort Mr. Johansen to the guest quarters on deck six." Daniel came back to himself and obediently followed the armed Vulcan crewman into the corridor.

#

"Your impressions, Agent Senek?" T'Lar said abruptly, in a distracted voice.

Senek did not answer quickly. He was careful with his response, for he could tell that the commander disliked the Human. He himself found the young man's flamboyantly oppositional negotiation tactics rather amusing.

"I do not believe that Mr. Johansen bears personal hostility toward Vulcans generally. Nor did I gain the impression that his mission, whatever it may have been, was directly contrary to Vulcan's interest."

"I disagree," T'Lar argued. "I fail to see how you could not have perceived his blatant hostility."

Senek's lips twitched. "He was not exhibiting hostility by his remarks," the operative explained. "He was attempting to provoke us. It is a standard Human gambit, used in an attempt to interfere with a debating opponent's reasoning ability."

T'Lar blinked and raised an eyebrow. "You are telling me that his anger was simulated?"

"Not entirely, no," Senek explained. "But he deliberately exaggerated the severity of his emotional upset. He was attempting to make us underestimate him, and at the same time trying to irritate us into letting some potentially valuable information slip."

"Fascinating," T'Riss murmured.

Senek looked at the young woman thoughtfully. Healer Tyvek had privately reported to him that the physical damage to Subcenturion T'Riss would heal quickly. The psychological damage was a different matter. Fortunately, a mental health professional capable of healing melds had been located and was on her way.

Particularly telling was the fact that the other two ex-pleasure slaves did not seem to be experiencing any lasting sense of connection to their rapists. The two ships' physicians could not agree about the cause of this discrepancy. The healer on board the _Le'Matya_ hypothesized that repeated use of the viral agent between the same two partners might have functioned physiologically as the equivalent of multiple Pon farrs together, resulting in a mating bond by virtue of repetition. Tyvek, of course, being Tyvek, disagreed.

The woman Natolya was in custody aboard the _Le'Matya_ for want of space on the _Sehlat_. After being confronted with the charges facing her should she fail to cooperate, the Orion female had proven to be a veritable wellspring of information. She swore that T'Mara and V'Sille had been assaulted many times, but never by the same partner twice. More importantly, the medical scanners confirmed she was telling the truth.

In any case, the abuse that the pleasure slaves had suffered went far beyond the physical and emotional anguish that members of another race would have endured. As touch telepaths, with each attack the finely tuned minds of the Vulcans were further brutalized by the animalistic thoughts and emotions of their attackers. Brain scans on all three of the women showed the neurological damage all too clearly.

T'Mara was a bonded wife whose husband and children were still on Vulcan. They had originally planned to join her on the colony in a few months, once her husband had completed the process of divesting the family of its property. Instead, she was returning to Vulcan for extensive therapy. Neither Tyvek nor the _Le'Matya's_ healer dared to speculate what her ordeal might have done to her marriage bond. Only time would tell.

V'Sille, like T'Riss, was currently unmarried. Her betrothed had survived the attack and been shipped deeper into the Syndicate. According to Grigor-Tel's records, V'Sille's betrothed was sold to a mining consortium for use in a dilithium mine on some airless moon. It was barely possible that he might eventually be retrieved alive.

T'Riss had seen her betrothed killed in the fighting aboard the _Plains of Gol_ . Had her betrothed survived, honor would have compelled him to follow through with the marriage. To do otherwise would have been equivalent to blaming her for being the victim of a crime, an intensely illogical act. But now, unless the healer they had located could help her, her chances of finding another husband were slim indeed.

Healer Tyvek had recommended that for the present, the best therapy for Subcenturion T'Riss was work, preferably some absorbing project that would engage her full attention for as long as possible and distract her from her delusional state. This looked like a perfect opportunity.

"Subcenturion," Senek said carefully. "You are well aware of the delicacy of this situation. It is imperative that we gather as much information as possible concerning our Human guest, and we must accomplish this before the Earth ship arrives. Plainly Mr. Johansen is unwilling to cooperate with the members of this task force. He did, however, seem to display an entirely different attitude toward you."

"I don't understand," T'Riss said in confusion.

"I believe that Mr. Johansen assigns no blame to you for his current troubles," Senek explained. "He obviously regards the crews of these two ships, along with myself, as captors and adversaries. But you, to the contrary, are perceived as a fellow victim of circumstance." He paused thoughtfully. "Based on my past experience with Humans, it would be entirely logical for him to form a friendly relationship with you."

"Precisely," T'Lar agreed emphatically. "Once you establish a connection, you will be able to extract the information we need."

T'Riss looked uncomfortable. "I am not trained for interrogation, Commander."

"That is not my suggestion, Subcenturion," T'Lar told her pleasantly. "Interrogation has been singularly non-productive with Mr. Johansen. By the treaty of alliance, we are barred from using any forceful techniques to extract information. But he might be willing to speak freely with someone that he regards as a friend."

T'Riss started looking even more uncomfortable. "Commander... I... this man saved my life. You are aware of my condition when Agent Senek found me..."

T'Lar raised one hand. "I am not asking you to perform any treachery, Subcenturion. Consider. Based on the information that we now possess, it does seem that Mr. Johansen and his Andorian associates are probably innocent of any involvement in the attack on your ship. If this can be confirmed beyond any doubt, we can release him. Is this not what he desires?"

The younger woman's face started to clear. "Would that be the extent of my assignment?"

T'Lar kept her face bland and her tone neutral. "That will be the primary focus of your mission. Any additional information that you obtain will be evaluated on a case by case basis. I am certain that your training and your ethical code will be sufficient to ensure that you will take the proper course of action. Remember that the Humans are sending a ship to adjudicate this matter regarding Mr. Johansen. It will also be to his benefit if any information concerning his activities involving Human law is brought into the open before they arrive."

"I agree," Senek said dryly. "Human authorities are notoriously short tempered when it comes to being lied to."

"He claims that he has violated no law," T'Riss pointed out.

"In which case," Senek returned reasonably, "your prior confirmation of that will simplify his interaction with the Human authorities immensely."

T'Riss seemed mollified. "I understand, Commander. I will attempt to make contact with Mr. Johansen as you order. But I am uncertain as to the proper approach. Agent Senek, do you have suggestions?"

Senek raised an eyebrow and considered. "In this case, I recommend forthright honesty."

T'Riss looked shocked. "You think I should declare my intentions openly?" T'Lar actually blinked in surprise and opened her mouth to speak.

"I would not suggest going quite that far," Senek said in amusement, forestalling T'Lar's objection. "But there is no reason that you need to lie. Tell him the truth, as far as it goes. You are curious about Humans, are you not? Tell him that. He will certainly understand such a motive. Humans are obsessively curious as a species. Also, you are currently unassigned, and therefore do not have regularly scheduled duties. Is this not correct? Therefore you are provided with large amounts of unfilled time. If you were not talking to him, you would in effect be sitting in your quarters with nothing to do, would you not? Tell him this also."

T'Riss pondered. "It seems a logical approach. But why would he be interested in associating with me?"

Senek looked carefully at her. He decided to avoid mentioning the obvious. Daniel had struck him as a reasonably honorable and sane young man, and unlikely to make advances on the subcenturion, considering her recent ordeal. There was no reason to complicate her mission by bringing up the subject.

"Mr. Johansen will accept your approach out of boredom and loneliness," he told her. "Humans are a social species. They crave interaction. Given a choice between your company and no company, he will eagerly agree to spend time with you." Senek spoke with authority. "He will also attempt to use you as a means to escape. Failing that, he will attempt to manipulate you to into obtaining special privileges that he can use for escape."

"Why?" T'Riss asked, confused. "If he is innocent as he claims, logic dictates that he would be better served by remaining and clearing his name."

"Unfortunately," Senek said unhappily, "neither Human Boomers nor Andorians hold a high opinion of Vulcan standards of justice. He probably believes, and his partners certainly believe, that their best option remains escape."

T'Lar looked irritated. "Such irrational fear is the source of most interspecies difficulty."

"In this case," Senek replied, "the fear is not entirely irrational." He was not pleased to admit it. T'Riss and T'Lar gave him questioning looks.

Commander T'Lar said stiffly, "I can assure you, Agent Senek. Personnel under my command are expected to scrupulously observe proper procedure."

"I do not doubt you," Senek assured them. "But it does not require a majority to engage in misbehavior to taint the reputation of all. If I may borrow a Human analogy, one rotten apple - a type of fruit - can cause an entire container full of apples to rot. The distressing truth of the matter is that under the previous administration, actions were sometimes undertaken which did not strictly adhere to the letter of the law."

"Such as?" T'Lar challenged him. "I find these imputations of yours most disturbing, Agent Senek. If Fleet personnel were involved in illegal activities, why were they not censured for it? I have heard nothing of such matters. At least, not to such a degree that it would cause widespread distrust of our people among other races."

Senek actually winced. "You did not hear about them because they were clandestine, Commander. You did not hear about them because the High Command did not want you to hear about them."

"I have not previously been involved in any clandestine operations," Commander T'Lar admitted. "Recent reorganization in the Fleet has left several vacancies in the upper ranks, resulting in my assignment to this mission. I was not aware that such atrocities had been permitted."

"V'Las and his supporters were very careful to regulate the information that they allowed to trickle through to the Vulcan people," Senek acknowledged. "Even Fleet officers were restricted in their access to general information. It is ironic indeed that many alien races are better informed about Fleet activities than the average Vulcan citizen."

"Are you suggesting that includes Mr. Johansen?" T'Lar asked him quietly.

"Quite possibly," Senek told her soberly.

She paused. "Does Earthgov know of these events?"

"Officially, no," Senek said. "Unofficially, I would be surprised if they are not aware of them. You must understand that our alliance with Earth has been steadily weakening for the last twenty years. Due to the previous administration's actions following the Xindi attack on Earth - or more specifically their lack of action - followed by the conspiracy to bomb the Human embassy on Vulcan, there is a real possibility that we will lose them as allies...possibly because they prefer the Andorians, or perhaps merely because they no longer perceive a net benefit to associating with us."

Both women looked shocked. "But..." T'Riss floundered a moment before regaining her composure. Her two elders kindly overlooked the lapse, remembering her weakened condition. She took several deep breaths and began again. "But we have been allies for a century! If I recall correctly, that equates to five Human generations. Surely a few unfortunate incidents would not be sufficient to destroy such a stable alliance." The young woman sounded truly upset.

T'Lar put her hands together, with her fingertips matching carefully. "I suspect from what Agent Senek has told us that there is more to it than that."

"Yes." Senek fell silent for several moments. "Not only did the High Command make a policy of distorting the information regarding other races, it also deliberately distorted the reports of its own activities on other worlds and the reactions of our allies to those activities. Earth, for example, was consistently presented as a backward planet. Humans were described to our people by the High Command as culturally and philosophically bereft, slaves to their baser emotions and physical appetites, whose only real talent lay in the technical arts of war. Would you say that I have offered an accurate summation?"

"Reasonably accurate," T'Lar said grimly.

"After having been in space long enough to actually encounter some Humans, do you consider that description accurate?" Senek asked her.

"Not strictly, no." T'Lar looked even grimmer. "I had hoped that the discrepancies were due to misunderstanding and miscommunication."

"By no means," Senek sighed. "The High Command spent significant resources studying every race with which we have contact. They were well aware of Human characteristics, positive as well as negative. Their propaganda campaign was carefully designed to emphasize Human flaws, while minimizing their good points as much as possible."

"To what purpose?" T'Riss broke in, seriously unhappy. "What have we been doing on Earth for the past century?"

"Preventing them from becoming a threat to the High Command," Senek said bluntly. "...by slowing their advance into space as much as possible, diverting them from making contact with the Andorians, exploiting their natural resources through extortionate trade agreements, carefully blocking them from contact with other advanced races that might provide them with potentially dangerous technology, and above all by keeping them from having unrestricted access to the Vulcan people."

"If the Humans knew of this, why did they tolerate it?" T'Riss asked.

"Lack of alternative options," Senek told her. "And we did not entirely fail to provide them with benefits. Or at least, we managed to convince the Humans that we were providing them with some benefits. Foremost among the assumed benefits was the promise of protectorate status. As a protected ally of Vulcan, Earth was supposedly assured of physical and military support in the event of attack by a third party." He stopped briefly to watch T'Lar wincing. "Now you see why the Humans are questioning the value of what they have been paying for."

"In retrospect, failing to support Earth in their conflict with the Xindi seems short-sighted," T'Riss offered hesitantly.

"V'Las never intended to support Earth," Senek said. "I am quite certain that he hoped the Xindi would destroy Earth, or at least cripple it beyond the point of star traveling capability. I have personally read several strategic analyses estimating that within 150 years, Earth could potentially present an even larger threat to Vulcan than Andoria."

"In that case," T'Lar exploded, "The entire approach from the beginning was massively illogical!" She stopped abruptly and began deep breathing exercises to re-establish her control.

"I cannot disagree," Senek replied soothingly. "I suspect that the High Command's policies were formulated on the basis of fear, rather than logic. Early reports, immediately post-First Contact, present feasibility studies for a preemptive strike to eliminate the Human's space-faring ability permanently. At the time, however, the High Command was not politically powerful enough to carry out such a strike and get away with it. By the time they had established themselves as the de facto Vulcan government, Earth had become too powerful to attack with impunity."

"First, cast out fear," T'Riss quoted softly. "Nothing can be done until one has cast out fear."

"Truth indeed," Senek agreed with equal softness. "As my years increase, so increases my respect for the truth of Surak's teachings."

"And now," T'Lar said in resignation, "the new High Council must act to repair the damage...before we end up facing threats on two fronts, with one of them only sixteen light years from our homeworld."

#

Trip glanced automatically up and down the corridor by sheer reflex. Not that he really cared one way or the other if anyone saw him. It wasn't as if anyone on board didn't already know about his relationship with T'Pol, and he had reached the point where, if they got turned in and the brass started causing problems, it wouldn't take much at all to provoke him into resigning his commission anyway.

He pushed the button without bothering to announce himself and walked in. Her quarters were dimly lit by the meditation candles again. It was all too common these days for her to need extra meditation time over and above her usual schedule. Trip stood while the door closed, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness. He saw T'Pol on her cushions, eyes closed and apparently in deep trance. Her breathing was steady and deep, he was relieved to see. Maybe she wasn't having the usual difficulty tonight.

He tip-toed over to the desk and eased into her chair as quietly as he possibly could. Determined to wait as long as it took for her to finish on her own, if it took all night, Trip folded his hands and bowed his head. Since their baby died he had begun to envy T'Pol's ability to find temporary relief in meditation, but he just didn't seem to have the right focus for it, or something.

Then one of the Starfleet grief counselors that Jon had ordered him to see mentioned that for Humans, prayer and meditation produced very similar physiological results. Trip had never been a dedicated churchgoer, but the memories of his Baptist upbringing were strong. Despite lingering questions, he found that an hour every night before sleep spent praying helped him settle his mind and heart more than counseling. He still wasn't totally confident that there was anyone out there listening. But just the act of formulating his thoughts and feelings and sending them out to someone who might care helped purge the pain.

It was more than an hour before Trip heard stirring from across the room. He smiled wryly at T'Pol, who raised a brow at him in surprise.

"How long have you been waiting?" she asked. Her expression was calm, but somehow he could sense her concern for his well being. It was probably that bond thing again, because she sure didn't look concerned. Instead, she looked serene. It usually lasted at least a few minutes now after each meditation session.

"Not long,' he shrugged. He slipped down from the chair and joined her on the floor opposite her meditation candle. "Want me to go get you something to eat?" he coaxed. She was already dressed for bed in those silk pajamas of hers, but he hadn't seen her in the mess hall all day. She wasn't eating enough. It worried him.

"Perhaps later," she replied with indifference. In an obvious attempt to change the subject, she asked, "So... when are we scheduled to rendezvous with the _Kau T'Surak_?"

He regarded her suspiciously. She knew their ETA better than he did after all of her communicating back and forth with the Vulcan High Council regarding the composition of their Vulcan "escort detail".

"Just exactly when did you eat last, anyway?" he demanded.

She paused thoughtfully. "I believe that I had some plomeek broth this morning..." she replied. Her tone was uncertain. He sighed heavily, shaking his head.

"T'Pol! You're gonna make yourself sick!" She opened her mouth as if to protest, but he cut her off. "...and I don't wanna hear a word about how Vulcans can go days without food! You're nothin' but skin and bones!"

T'Pol shut her mouth and gave him a _look_. Then she said mildly, "All I was going to say is that the preparation for our current mission has kept me otherwise occupied."

Trip stuck his tongue in one cheek and looked at her. She did have a point. After much haggling, she'd managed to reduce the size of the Vulcan contribution to their convoy to a single mobile hospital vessel, appropriately named "The Wisdom of Surak", and a personnel transport ship full of trained "observers", Vulcan Ministry of Security officers destined to be assigned in pairs to each ship recruited by the Vulcans to bring the inhabitants of the irretrievably damaged Orion space station to a safer location. It was an impressive achievement, considering the Vulcan hardheadedness factor.

"Yeah, well, I guess I can see that," he conceded, "but if you haven't eaten all day, that doesn't explain why you're not hungry now." He crossed his arms triumphantly over his chest, pleased to have made a logical and indisputable observation. He wasn't prepared for the pang of grief that assailed him. T'Pol sat there rigidly in her meditation posture, her face immobile, but he knew the pain was coming from her.

_Damn!_ he thought. He searched her face for an outward sign of the turmoil within her. Under his gaze, finally, her eyes widened, shining wetly in the reflected candlelight.

"It is true," she conceded softly. "My appetite is not what it once was." Her eyes darted to the side, as if she couldn't bear to hold his gaze. "Doctor Phlox has informed me that reduced appetite can be part of the grief response, and that I should force myself to eat sufficient calories to maintain normal body function regardless of appetite," she admitted. "It is difficult."

Trip sat studying her for a moment, momentarily at a loss over the best way to help. Then he smiled.

"Tell ya what... I heard a rumor that chef was makin' pecan pie. How about I go get us some dinner with pie for dessert, and then we'll top it off with a little neuropressure, just to relax. How's that sound?"

T'Pol's lips twisted up at one corner - just a trifle. Trip sensed amused anticipation. His grin broadened. This bond thing was handy sometimes.

"That would be agreeable," said T'Pol.

#

"Greetings, Crewman Falhan. I bring the evening meal for Raijiin." The Vulcan boy's high pitched voice carried from the corridor into the cell where Raijiin lay on her uncomfortable bunk, contemplating her predicament.

"Acknowledged, Selim," her guard responded in an affable voice. The doorway from the corridor opened, and Raijiin watched him lead the way into the circular foyer around which the _ Sehlat's_ three confinement units were arrayed. Stopping in front of the center cell, Falhan paused to announce, "Selim has brought food for you, Lady Raijiin." His voice held a note of friendliness, which gave her hope that perhaps not all Vulcan adults were as impermeable to emotional persuasion as the ones she had encountered thus far. Selim certainly seemed to like her - but then, Selim liked everyone.

He'd swiftly become a favorite among the ship's crew, and would have been even if he were not the commander's brother. Since he'd made a point of emphasizing how Raijiin had gone out of her way to help him escape, her confinement was strictly a matter of precaution. Had she not demonstrated her power on V'Sille, she would have been allowed to roam freely, a fact that she belatedly had come to realize and curse with fervent intensity.

"I brought you some mollusks," Selim offered bashfully. "I know you were craving animal protein, and this is the only type that we have available." He waited while Falhan deactivated the force field, then sidled shyly into the cell with the tray carefully balanced across his small arms.

"Thank you, Selim," Raijiin flashed the boy an honest smile. The child was really sweet. Whatever else might come, it was a good thing to have gotten this boy out of Natolya's clutches. She grimly reflected that with Natolya's experience, once Selim reached sexual maturity she probably would have required only a few months to corrupt him. Raijiin suppressed a grimace and took the tray gratefully.

"Will you sit with me for a while?" she asked hopefully. "It's lonely here with no one to talk to. I have no idea what's happening." Selim was fortunately much too young and naive to see that he was being shamelessly probed for information. Besides, she really did want someone to talk to.

"Certainly," the boy said eagerly, plopping himself down at the other end of the bunk with childish enthusiasm. "I have also been having difficulty finding companionship. There are no other children aboard, and all of the adults are busy."

Raijiin smiled sympathetically. "Then let's talk while I eat, I don't mind." She uncovered the tray. "Ooh. These mollusks look delicious," she exclaimed, and popped a bite into her mouth. "Mmm," she managed, trying her best to maintain her enthusiasm while chewing - and chewing - and chewing. "They taste as good as they look," Raijiin proclaimed a bit indistinctly, lying through her teeth. Actually, the invertebrates had been prepared following standard Vulcan culinary practices - which meant that all the attention had been focused on preserving nutritional value and taste was a non-issue. The flavor and texture were remarkably similar to that of an airlock vacuum seal.

"I am pleased that you find them acceptable," Selim said solemnly. "We do not utilize animal products, except for those animals that lack a central nervous system. Some of my people do not even eat those."

Raijiin managed to swallow the tough little shellfish tidbit. "I understand. I respect your philosophy. Everyone has their own particular ways, don't they?" She grinned brightly at him, quickly stabbed a chunk of raw purple vegetable and started crunching. At least it carried some flavor.

"Indeed. Infinite Diversity in Infinite Combinations. That is what Surak teaches us." The little boy intoned. Then he relaxed and told her, "All of the slaves are free now, and my people are trying to make arrangements for them to go home. My sister, Commander T'Lar, informs me that Grigor-Tel's records show where the others have been sent. As soon as we finish here, we will be going after them."

Raijiin nodded thoughtfully. "The Orions are in serious trouble this time, aren't they?" Having grown up in the Expanse, she had never heard of Vulcans until her encounter with one on board the human ship _Enterprise_, but everything that she had learned since coming into this part of space told her that Vulcans were an old race, well established, technically advanced, with a long reputation for merciless retribution against anyone who harmed their civilians. This was likely to get very ugly before it was over.

Selim looked unhappy. "Our people once fought a war with the Orion Syndicate," he told her. Raijiin looked up sharply. "They were the first race that our people had contact with. That was many, many years ago, before the Reformation of Surak. We hurt them very badly. Many of their people were killed. Since then, they have not caused us any significant trouble. This is the first time since that war that we have had a problem with them."

"Oh my," she breathed. "Grigor-Tel is likely to be an outlaw among his own people now, isn't he?" Her mind raced with the implications. Grigor-Tel had obviously not been too worried about Vulcan retribution. Had all of the major players in the Orion Syndicate forgotten what Vulcans were capable of doing, or was Grigor-Tel a member of a small minority? How many other Orions felt as he did?

"I do not know," Selim admitted. "This is not something that the adults will discuss with me."

"Well," Raijiin smiled at him, "let's discuss something happier. You said that your people are working to find a way for everyone to go home. What kind of arrangements are they making?"

Selim let a tiny smile slip in answer to hers, then he hurriedly covered it up. With a newly solemn face he started, "There are several vessels here that were engaged in trading activities with the Orions. My sister is negotiating with the captains of these vessels. She intends to arrange for them to transport the freed slaves to their home worlds in return for avoiding prosecution."

Raijiin pursed her lips in amusement. "Given the discrepancy in the size of their guns and your sister's guns, I imagine that she will prevail in those negotiations," she grinned. "How does she intend to make sure that they live up to the deal?"

"Each ship will have two armed Vulcan observers aboard," Selim told her. "They will have the only weapons on the ship. Also, each ship's computer system will be retro-fitted with override controls that will permit the observers to take control of the ship if necessary. Finally, in the event of open mutiny, each ship will be fitted with a bomb attached to the warp core that will disable the engines, along with a subspace beacon to signal for pickup by another Vulcan cruiser. With these precautions in place, my sister does not believe that the alien captains will attempt to renege on the arrangement."

"Does your law permit her to do that?" Raijiin asked with interest.

Selim squirmed. "T'Lar says that we are in the Syndicate. And Syndicate law permits such actions." He looked uncomfortable. "In any case, she maintains that all of them are guilty of complicity in the sale and transport of slaves, or smuggling. Therefore, they are in fact criminals. By offering them this option, she is giving them an opportunity to atone for their crimes without facing trial on Vulcan, where the punishment would be far more severe."

"What about the Orions? The ones working with Grigor-Tel?" Raijiin asked curiously.

Selim looked away. "The free associates of Grigor-Tel who were involved in the attack on our ship have already been interrogated and executed," he told her. He looked back. "But the Orions who were slaves will be left as they are, unharmed, along with all of the non-Orion employees."

She considered his words for a brief time while munching veggies. "It still seems like a lot of people to crowd into a very few ships. Won't they be standing on top of each other?" She eyed the lumpy little shellfish again, then carefully carved off a chunk to spear along with a piece of yellowish looking fruit. Maybe it would be juicy enough to help the leathery nugget slide down without choking her.

Selim's elusive smile flickered again. "Not all of them will be going home that way. Once all of the cargo ships are full, the rest of the freed slaves will be going home aboard _Enterprise_, along with you and I, V'Sille, T'Mara, and T'Riss."

A cold wind began to howl through her mind. _No. It's impossible_, she thought numbly. Her expression must have revealed her shock, for Selim suddenly looked very concerned, and he reached out to touch her arm.

Raijiin swallowed hard. "_Enterprise_?" she forced out a shaky whisper.

"Yes," Selim said, looking at her strangely. She recalled his empathic gift and tried her best to get her abject terror under control. She was unsuccessful. Her mollusk dinner felt like it was trying to come back up again. "They are coming because of the Human that was found on the station. Didn't anyone tell you about him?"

_A Human in Syndicate space. It was too unbelievable not to be the truth_. Raijiin took a deep breath and let it out slowly, swallowing. She searched frantically for the best course of action, and realized that she had to move quickly. She needed to tell the Vulcans her side of the story before _Enterprise_ arrived. If the Vulcans were on her side, then the Humans couldn't take her. Her nausea subsided - just a little. "Selim, I need your help," she told the boy seriously. "I know this is a major request, but I need to speak with your sister immediately."

"Of course," Selim responded enthusiastically. "I am certain that T'Lar will be willing to speak with you. You helped me. Our family owes you a debt of honor. I will go and ask her now."

"Thank you," Raijiin told him gratefully. She slumped in relief as Selim signaled the guard and left. As soon as she was alone however, Raijiin leaped to her feet and started pacing.

"_Spirits of Light. I knew that they would never forgive me, but I did not expect them to track me this far. There was already one of them on the station, and I never knew it! He could have walked into Natolya's at any time and bought an hour with me, and there would have been nothing I could have done to stop it!" _ The thought made her gut clench. Even if she had told Natolya everything, it would not have saved her - not if the Human had flashed enough latinum. More than one pleasure slave had been sold to a client for killing pleasure in that place.

Or even worse. She stopped cold. He might have bought her and taken her back to give her to Archer. A muffled whimper broke out at the thought. _"No!"_ She raked her fingernails through her hair.

It could not have been nearly as long as it felt before Selim returned with his sister. Raijiin heard the foyer door open and took a few breaths to compose her expression before she turned around. To her dismay she saw that a third person was present. The man looked vaguely familiar for a moment. Then something clicked, and she knew him as the man that Selim had seen in Natolya's, just before the attack, the Vulcan agent. Upon reflection, she decided that maybe it was just as well that he was here too. He might see her as useful.

T'Lar walked over to the force field and stopped. When Selim reached out a hand to disable the barrier, she intercepted him. "Not just yet, Brother. There are aspects of this situation that you are not aware of. The barrier will not inhibit conversation." He gave her a look but settled back obediently. The agent took a position to the right rear and started observing everything with evidence of deep interest.

"Thank you for coming to see me," Raijiin began pleasantly. "I know you must be busy."

"You are correct," T'Lar told her briskly. "I am busy. Far too busy to waste time on empty speech. My brother informs me that when you learned of the Human starship's scheduled arrival, you became upset. Why do you fear Humans so much?" She stood grimly waiting.

Raijiin clenched and unclenched her hands for a moment. She blurted, "Selim tells me that your family owes me a debt of honor. Is this true?"

T'Lar raised an eyebrow, glanced at her brother, then back at Raijiin. "You attempted to assist my brother, at some risk to yourself. Yes, there is a debt of sorts. It does not, however, supersede my duty as an officer of the Vulcan Fleet. Answer my question. Why do you fear Humans?"

Raijiin regarded T'Lar with the softly pleading expression she'd used to such good effect on so many others. This time, though, her desperation was not feigned. "Please," her voice shook. "Don't tell them I'm here. I'm not asking you to lie. Just don't mention my name. Please! Let me leave on one of the other ships. I've done nothing to you. I've harmed none of your people. Let me go, and don't tell the Humans I was ever here. I beg you! If they get their hands on me they will kill me!" Real tears started flowing down her cheeks. Selim stiffened and looked at his sister in distress.

T'Lar said flatly, "Selim, go to our quarters. Wait for me there. Go now." He opened his mouth and she cut him off, "No questions. Go." The boy sighed, gave Raijiin a final look of support, and left. T'Lar turned back to Raijiin and waited for the door to close behind her brother.

"Explain. In complete detail. Do not lie. Do not omit relevant information. If you expect my help you will cooperate fully. Otherwise I will deliver you to our allies as soon as they come within transporter range." The Vulcan woman's voice could have frozen the blood of an Andorian.

Raijiin looked hopelessly at the two aliens who stood in judgment upon her. Then she hung her head and told them. "I was a slave to the Xindi. The Xindi Reptilians. When the _Enterprise _ penetrated the Delphic Expanse, I was assigned to sneak aboard and gather information for the Xindi bio-weapon. The Humans caught me, but my masters broke me out of their brig and obtained the information that I had gathered. Afterward, I was sold to a Nausican, who sold me to Grigor-Tel."

She looked up at them bleakly. "Archer interrogated me when I was a prisoner. I have never met such a ruthless man. There is no mercy in him. Later, I heard stories about some of the things he and his crew did while they were fighting the Xindi. They attacked a mining colony and slaughtered people just to get information about the Xindi homeworld. They tortured prisoners. They hijacked and gutted a civilian ship to repair their own..." She stopped and clenched her fists, looking away and trembling.

"Humans," the Vulcan male said quietly, "are not prone to restraint when fighting to defend their homes."

"I didn't think they would find me in the Syndicate," Raijiin croaked out. "But you said there was a Human on the station. Was there any other reason for him to be there?" Her voice held a plaintive hint of hope.

T'Lar dashed it to the deck. "Not so far as we have been able to determine," she told her. The two Vulcans exchanged significant looks. "In fact, we have been attempting, without success, to answer that very question. It appears that you have provided us with a logical explanation for our mystery."

"I am happy to have been of service," Raijiin told her bitterly. "It will comfort me while Archer applies the knife."

"You will not be subjected to torture," T'Lar told her emphatically. "That much I will personally guarantee. If necessary, I will keep you aboard my ship until we return to Vulcan and permit you to appeal to the High Council directly."

Raijiin's knees buckled. "Thank you!" She started choking back tears. With a massive effort, she managed to keep from breaking down in front of two Vulcans. "Thank you," she managed more calmly. "I am grateful. You have saved my life. I will not forget this. Now, the debt is in the other direction."

"There is no debt," T'Lar told her. "I will leave so that you can finish your meal. Set your fears at rest. You are safe here. Eat, and replenish your strength." She gestured for Senek to follow her, and the two of them headed out of the confinement area. They maintained silence until reaching an unoccupied section of corridor.

Senek mused, "It appears that the subcenturion's assignment has become redundant."

"Possibly, but there is no harm in gathering additional information," T'Lar maintained.

"Of course not," Senek agreed. "One can never have too much information. Particularly when dealing with Humans. They are capable of raising bewilderment to an art form."

T'Lar blinked and glared at him suspiciously, but his face was as placid and smooth as glass.

#

"It's sixteen point three microns," Sehlra stated in a deadly monotone, "not sixteen point two."

The Vulcan technician pulled his head out from under the console and look at her. Then he sighed, "As you wish," and crawled back under. "Sixteen point three microns, as specified," came the muffled acknowledgment.

Jenrali lowered himself hand over hand down the ladder in the zero gee that currently prevailed aboard _ Lerteiran._ "How is it coming?" he asked Sehlra quietly in deliberately distorted Andorian.

She snorted. "Be better if I had real help," she snarled under her breath. "These children had never seen anything that didn't use the Xantel crossover alignment before. I had to give them a lecture on basic warp theory before we could get started. Frozen Pissicles! Even Daniel knew that much when he came aboard."

Jenrali chuckled. "Remember how big the boy's eyes got when he saw the reactor?" She smiled fondly.

"All he had ever known were those rusty old Human tubs," Sehlra agreed. "Warp one, or warp two at most. Even this old box must have looked like a racer to him."

Jenrali grinned, "For a moment at first, I thought the lad was going to leap on top of the reactor and start mating with it." Sehlra laughed and punched him, hard, in the pit of the stomach. He fell back in mock distress. The cheerful mood faded quickly for both of them though, with typical Andorian volatility.

"Do you think his people will believe him?" Sehlra asked soberly.

"Why shouldn't they?" Jenrali said truculently. "We haven't done anything to violate any Human laws."

She looked at him with a trace of worry. "There _ was_ that..."

Jenrali cut her off with a quick gesture and a glance at the Vulcan, who was still half under the console. "That was nowhere near Human space." He went on more softly. "Besides, we had no way of knowing the chocolate was stolen. Daniel said himself that his people produce tons of the stuff every year. How were we to know?"

Sehlra sighed in remembrance. "It was good."

Jenrali snorted. "You and Daniel ate enough of it to have kept us in deuterium for 150 light years."

"What's the point of profit," she asked him, "if you can't spend it on pleasure sometimes? When you give up your ale, I will give up my chocolate."

"At least the lad doesn't get drunk on it," Jenrali pointed out.

"I do not get drunk," she huffed. "It just helps me relax."

"Uh-huh," he said, turning back to the ladder to hide his face.

"It does!"

"Just as you say," he agreed, pulling himself back up toward the bridge.

#

"Nice view," Daniel commented. He seemed to have difficulty tearing his gaze away from the wraparound view port in the dining hall. T'Riss' eyes followed his and discovered the Andorian ship on its tether a half-kilometer or so off their port bow. A small runabout circled the ship, while several of the _Sehlat's_ maintenance crew were engaged in EVA repairs.

Her eyes narrowed. The repairs seemed nearly finished. Perhaps she could take advantage of the Human's presumed desire to escape. Grigor-Tel would not remain within the distortion effect of the nebula for much longer, she was certain. He had neither sufficient patience nor intelligence to hide for long.

As she contemplated the possibility of pursuing her tormentor on her own terms, Daniel turned from the view port and took the chair she'd indicated upon his arrival. T'Riss sat with her hands folded on the table in front of her and two steaming cups already poured, studying him. As soon as Daniel sat down, he inhaled deeply, and his eyes widened. He stared at the cup for a second, then carefully reached out and lifted it to his nose, breathing in the odor emanating from it as if it were a precious elixir.

"Coffee," he said reverently. "You got me some coffee." He looked across the table, a smile breaking across his face. "Thank you, ma'am," he said fervently. He took his first sip of coffee in three days and swallowed in apparent ecstasy.

"Your shipmates informed us that you customarily drink coffee, especially in the morning," T'Riss explained, "and they sent over a supply." She had considerable difficulty keeping the amusement out of her voice. This Human was behaving like a child at a Kahs-wan feast - all for a rather bitter tasting stimulant beverage derived from ground beans.

"Bless them," Daniel moaned blissfully. "Not only am I naming my firstborn after them, I'm naming all of my children after them. I don't care if I have fifty."

T'Riss hoisted an eyebrow quizzically. "Would that not result in multiple duplications?"

"I will mix and match," he told her with a straight face. "Jenrali, Sehlra, Senrali, Jehlra, Sehlri, Jenhra, you get the drift." He took another happy sip.

T'Riss tilted her head and examined this Human. She had never encountered anyone who exemplified such a complex of web of inconsistencies. At present, his superficial appearance of calm would do credit to a Vulcan, yet he was behaving in an unabashedly humorous fashion. During their last meeting, he had behaved as if he were on the verge of violence, yet Senek assured her afterward that he had been in complete control. The contradictions were fascinating.

"I am pleased that you agreed to speak with me," she tentatively began. "I am currently not assigned normal duties aboard this ship, and my time has been quite empty. I am accustomed to a regular work schedule." There, she thought. That sounded straightforward enough.

"Believe me, I know the feeling," Daniel responded affably. "I've been slowly going insane staring at the walls in my quarters." He raised the cup and poured the rest of it down his throat in one long swallow. "Oh, that was _so good_," he sighed.

"Would you like more?" T'Riss inquired. "I prepared an entire pot. If you prefer, I can bring it to the table."

Daniel grinned. "Keep this up and I may name one of my daughters T'Riss," he told her. Her eyebrow remained elevated all the way to the galley and back with the pot.

"So what would you like to know?" Daniel asked her. "I presume your senior officers are frothing at the mouth to have you pump me for information? Go ahead and ask your questions, Ma'am. I have nothing to hide." He smiled and poured a second cup.

T'Riss froze. "Why do you conclude," she asked gingerly, "that my superiors wish me to obtain information?"

Daniel shrugged. "It's as obvious as a Tellarite's nose. They think I'm hiding something. If they found out that you were planning to talk to me, it defies logic that they would pass up the chance to have you grill me. No doubt as soon as we are done talking they will drag you into the nearest briefing room for a full report." He took another sip, rolling it over his tongue in satisfaction.

T'Riss grabbed her cup and took a sip of her tea to buy time for thought. This was not going the way she had planned. Not even close.

She put the cup down and said, "You do not seem particularly upset at the thought. If your assumption were true, I would expect you to display resentment."

"Why?" Daniel looked back at her. He raised an eyebrow in her direction, apparently just to show her that Vulcans weren't the only ones who could do it. "It's not your fault that the High Command judges everyone else by their own devious standards. Anyway, I still have too much time on my hands. I might as well spend it talking to you as twiddling my thumbs."

"The High Command is no longer in power," she corrected him. "The High Council has been installed. Our people's policies have changed."

"Oh, right. Sorry about that. My mistake," Daniel told her ironically. "The great discovery of Surak's original scripture has completely revised and renovated your entire government and culture."

"That is correct," she agreed, carefully ignoring his tone.

"How long ago was that, anyway?" Daniel asked her, peeking over the rim of his cup.

T'Riss told him, "The Kir'Shara was discovered less than a Vulcan year ago."

"I see," he nodded. "In less than a year you have completely transformed your entire way of life. After doing things the same way for centuries. Amazing. Truly amazing." His eyes twinkled.

She shifted position uncomfortably. "Of course, there is a certain amount of inertia in any established system. But the new policies are in place."

"And of course," Daniel said, with laughter dancing underneath his tone, "once the policies are established everyone automatically falls into line without any argument. Yes?" He grinned.

T'Riss felt the beginnings of irritation stir. Suddenly she remembered Senek's briefing about Human debating tactics and pulled up short. Plainly, the Human was deliberately baiting her. And he was succeeding. This man was obviously more dangerous than she had realized. Increased caution was called for.

"It appears that you do not believe my people are sincere in our efforts," she said warily.

Daniel put his cup down and gave her a rueful smile. "I apologize," he told her, provoking a tiny jolt of surprise in T'Riss. "I had no right to imply anything of the sort. My people have a proverb that says 'people who live in glass houses shouldn't throw stones'. Certainly no Human has room to criticize anyone else's efforts at self-improvement. I wish you good luck with your efforts." He looked out through the viewport and thoughtfully ran a finger around the rim of his cup.

T'Riss digested this silently for a few moments while Daniel stared at the old Andorian ship hanging in the blackness of space with the nebula as a backdrop. She wondered how to bring up the subject of Grigor-Tel's pursuit, and decided that it was premature to do so. He had no logical reason to trust her and would assume it was a trap. "I hope my curiosity does not offend you," she started. He interrupted her with a chuckle.

"You want to know how a crazy Human ended up shipping with two Andorians. Right?"

She carefully picked her words. "I do not wish to seem as if I am interrogating you." Which was nothing more than the truth. She certainly did not wish for him to become certain of her motives.

Daniel warmed his cup. "Not a problem. It's simple enough. I'm a Boomer, but I lost my family when I was seven. When I grew up I signed on as crew with another Boomer ship, but..." he sighed and paused. T'Riss waited and looked interested. "Boomer crews are tight," he told her. "Really tight. Most everyone is family one way or another. It's not like they deliberately tried to freeze me out," he hurried to add. "But I just wasn't one of them, and there was no getting around it. It would have taken years for me to really fit in aboard that ship. So when I had the chance to buy into _Lerteiran _ I took it."

T'Riss looked perplexed. "Moving from a ship of your own people to one crewed by another species in an effort to fit in seems illogical. Would such a relocation not compound your discomfort?"

Daniel broke into soft laughter. "You would think so, wouldn't you?" He leaned back looking into the distance of memory. "I ran into Jenrali at a watering hole on Rigel," he began.

"I am sorry," T'Riss interrupted. "Watering hole?"

"Uh... a tavern near the space port," he told her. "He had just finished delivering a shipment of Andorian ale, which I had never tried before." His expression became distant.

T'Riss waited for 3.5 minutes before speaking. "Daniel?"

Daniel blinked and came back to the present. "They were looking for a third crewman. _Lerteiran _ was designed for two crew, but as old as she's getting, the maintenance load is starting to get pretty heavy. I took all my back pay and bought in as junior partner." He topped off his coffee cup yet again. "And here I am."

T'Riss regarded him with a crinkled brow. None of this made sense. The story was almost plausible. Yet the briefing she had just received made it obvious that Daniel Johansen was in pursuit of the woman Raijiin. He claimed that he had left a ship of his own kind to join with Andorians. Why? Because he felt disconnected. An unlikely explanation at best. She concluded unhappily that he was probably lying. For some reason this disappointed her. Time to broaden the field of inquiry.

"How were you able to integrate with the Andorians?" she wanted to know. "As you no doubt are aware, my people have found difficulty in our relations with them."

"Vulcans do have a genius for understatement," he responded wryly. "Two wars and only the Creator knows how many skirmishes would certainly qualify as difficulty, I suppose."

She ignored the dig. "You are to be respected for your ability to achieve a constructive association with them. Andorians are notoriously insular and difficult to work with."

Daniel regarded her thoughtfully. "No, they aren't." He spoke emphatically. "The problems that Andorians and Vulcans have getting along with each other are due to the fact that you're so much alike."

T'Riss stiffened and sat back. His comment struck entirely too close to home. She had begun to suspect, since her discussion with the commander and Agent Senek earlier that day, that her own people still possessed all of the potential for violence and vindictiveness that they so deplored in others. The concept had unsettled her and challenged everything that she'd always believed about the nature of her people and her civilization. This Human could not be allowed to discover her doubt.

"If I have offended you, I apologize. I don't, however, see the need to resort to insults," she told him coldly.

His lips twisted. "I was not offering an insult. I was stating my considered opinion. If you disagree with it, fine. But please refrain from allowing your emotions to reject my assertion out of hand without at least attempting to examine the logical merits of my argument."

Her face froze. "I believe that this conversation is in danger of becoming provocative. Perhaps we can continue at a later time. Please excuse me." T'Riss stood up and turned to go. His assertion had no merit, of course - at least not since Surak's reformation. Before the reformation was another matter, one which she was entirely too conflicted at the moment to discuss. The turmoil within her suddenly made her very fatigued. She felt the need to meditate.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you angry," said Daniel in a regretful tone as she rose from the table.

She did not turn around. "I am not angry," she replied tightly. "I am becoming fatigued. The ship's Healer has ordered me to avoid overexertion and prescribed additional rest and meditation. I look forward to speaking with you again, Mr. Johansen." She marched out with her back stiff, and with much to consider. Allying herself with this Human was going to require more time and effort than she'd anticipated. It was evidently time for her to consider other options.

#

It was supposed to be a cakewalk mission, a chance for the ship and crew to regain their equilibrium after four long, stressful years. The cruise to the Orion Syndicate station and back was long enough to require several weeks round trip. _Enterprise _ was accompanied by a Vulcan personnel transport ship and an unarmed mobile hospital vessel. Although no hostilities were anticipated, the transport was still armed and armored at least as well as _Enterprise_ herself. Captain Archer was confident that between the two of them they could easily send an Orion Marauder, or even a trio of Klingon Birds of Prey, off howling with their tails between their legs.

They were three days along on the mission when the priority message came through from Starfleet Command. Suddenly the mission wasn't a cakewalk anymore.

"Are they quite certain, sir?" Reed asked coldly. His eyes were like twin laser points. Archer looked around the briefing room table where his entire command staff was gathered. Even Phlox had been called in for this one.

"I don't have to take their word for it, Malcolm," the captain told him. "They included pictures with the report. It's Raijiin. No question about it."

"DAMMIT!" Trip's fist hit the table hard enough to make everyone's coffee cup bounce. His face was crimson with fury. T'Pol caught his eye and held it. Slowly his breathing steadied and his color faded.

Archer decided not to make an issue of the outburst, considering that he had done something very similar when Admiral Gardner told him the news in his ready room. "Ordinarily we would simply collect her when we arrive. But there is a complication."

"What complication, Captain?" T'Pol inquired calmly.

He looked disgusted. "Apparently Raijiin, opportunistic as ever, snatched the chance to make herself useful to the Vulcans somehow during the attack. Now she is asking for political sanctuary on the grounds that we would abuse her."

"We might have expected something like this," Malcolm responded with equal disgust. "Has Starfleet filed for extradition yet?"

"Yes," Archer said, "but it's going to take some time for the paperwork to go through. Then there is the hearing, and so on and so forth. You know the drill." Everyone nodded. "Meanwhile, Raijiin is sitting safe and snug aboard one of the D'Kyr cruisers and laughing at us," he added, beginning to feel his wrath rising again.

"Is there any way we could just go get her?" Trip asked hopefully. T'Pol looked scandalized as he pointed out, "Once she is over here in our brig, possession is nine tenths of the law isn't it?"

"That idea has possibilities, Commander," Lieutenant Reed perked up immediately. "We might be able to..."

"No." Archer told them flatly. "Not going to happen."

"But, Cap'n ..." Trip started to protest.

"I said no, Trip," Captain Archer told him firmly. "That's final. You and Malcolm are not staging a commando raid on a Vulcan ship. Give up the idea right now. If you even think about trying it, you two are the ones who will end up in the brig. Understand?"

They mumbled grudging acknowledgment. "Commander," the captain addressed T'Pol, "I want you to stay in close contact with both of the Vulcan ships here, and also get in touch with both the _ Sehlat_ and the _Le'Matya_ as soon as we reach communications range. Find out as much as you possibly can about the entire situation, with a special emphasis on Raijiin."

"Understood, Captain," she replied. "But was our original mission not intended to be focused on Mr. Johansen?"

"Maybe it was," Archer growled. "But frankly, I consider that whole thing a joke. Most likely he's some youngster who decided to head out for adventure by signing on with Andorians, then found himself in the wrong place at the wrong time. If I were a gambler, I would give three to one odds that there is nothing there to investigate. What I want is Raijiin. Find out what she has on the Vulcans and what we can do to loosen her grip. Top priority."

"Acknowledged," she agreed.

#

T'Riss approached the brig at 2200 hours carrying a food tray. The odor emanating from the covered tray was offensive, but it couldn't be helped. There was no way to make Andorian icebear stew palatable to Vulcans. She'd been told, however, that the dish was Daniel's favorite, and so presumed that another meat eater would find the taste pleasant. Fortunately, the _Lertieran's_ engineer had sent over such a large volume of the gelatinous mixture that this portion would never be missed.

The night shift guard wrinkled his nose at her approach, staring pointedly at the tray.

"I have animal protein for the prisoner," T'Riss told him. He opened the door with alacrity, but remained outside. It was gratifying to see that her choice of peace offering was useful in other ways. She entered the foyer and stepped to the woman's cell. Raijiin sat up on the bunk with a surprised expression on her face. Her eyes were reddened and her blond hair was tousled about her head. She appeared emotionally distraught, her blue eyes wide in her perfect, pale face.

"I have obtained additional protein from the Andorian vessel. You must eat to keep up your strength," said T'Riss. Then she deactivated the force field and stepped into the cell, reactivating it behind her.

Raijiin stood up and walked the few steps from her bunk to the entrance of her cell. They studied each other without speaking for several seconds, and then she smiled wanly. "Thanks. It smells good," she said, and took the tray, returning to the bunk to sit down. T'Riss remained standing with her hand on the phase pistol at her belt, watching in silence as the woman ate with every evidence of pleasure at the taste.

Despite her circumstances, the pleasure slave ate daintily, as if she were incapable of doing otherwise. Her facial features, her body, her meek and subservient manner - all seemed specifically designed to attract and please a male. For a moment, T'Riss envied her. She would never lack for any mate she desired. T'Riss, on the other hand, well - that part of her life was over. She would never again know the touch of a male without associating it with degradation and disgust, and once her history was made known to any mate who might possibly be interested in her, his disgust would no doubt be greater than hers. Her only hope for the semblance of a normal life was to find her tormentor and bring him to justice, a feat which was not possible without violating her oath as a Vulcan military officer.

T'Riss briefly considered leaving the prisoner's cell right then, before any laws had been broken. She should wait for the healer to arrive. Once her condition was confirmed, they'd have to believe her - but Grigor-Tel was on the move. She could sense him now, traveling deeper into Syndicate space and away from the protection of the nebula. Her sense of him was weakening by the hour, and there was no time to lose.

"You can sit down, you know. I won't hurt you," said Raijiin softly, smiling in the dimly lit cell and patting the bed beside her. Her plate was clean. T'Riss paused for a moment, puzzled. Then it occurred to her that in Raijiin's line of work, males would likely not be the only gender she had experience pleasing. T'Riss felt her face heat up, and imagined that it was turning several shades darker. She ignored the implied offer, however, and remained standing.

"My superiors inform me that you wish to avoid being taken by the Humans," began T'Riss without preamble, facing Raijiin squarely and looking her directly in the eye. "I am here to discuss a way to do that which will convince the High Council of your indisputable value." So far, everything she'd said was the absolute truth. If the rumors about this woman's skills were to be believed, it was best to keep falsehoods to a minimum.

Raijiin's eyes widened, and then her expression changed. In a coolly calculating voice, she said, "Go on."

"The agreement recently made between Vulcan and the Orion Syndicate limits Vulcan authority to this station and the immediate surrounding area. I have reason to believe, however, that Grigor-Tel, the Orion responsible for the abuse of several Vulcan citizens, is now at large in Syndicate space. I can track him, but I cannot use a Vulcan ship to pursue him." All true, after a fashion. The Orions had agreed to allow some investigation, and several small Vulcan security vessels would soon be dispatched to investigate leads, but Raijiin didn't know that, and it was a plausible explanation to justify T'Riss' next request.

"The Andorian ship which has just been repaired would be ideal for my purposes. Unfortunately, the ship can only be operated by a pilot familiar with its systems. Since the Andorians are unlikely to volunteer their services, I need your assistance with convincing them. Once we have captured Grigor-Tel, I will inform my superiors of your invaluable service to the Vulcan people, and they will be more than willing to protect you from the Humans."

Raijiin's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "And this mission is sanctioned by your superiors? It will do us little good to liberate the Andorian vessel only to be destroyed by the _Sehlat's_ disruptors before we're even out of the system."

T'Riss tried valiantly to maintain forthright eye contact, but couldn't help a small flicker in her gaze as she said, "My superiors are aware of the need to pursue Grigor-Tel, and will no doubt be pleased by my initiative."

Raijiin nodded thoughtfully, rising from the bed. T'Riss backed off a single step and placed her hand on her weapon warningly. Raijiin smiled reassuringly.

"No need for that, now, dear. Come on... let's see what's really going on," she said soothingly. T'Riss' eyes locked with hers, and she felt a sudden warmth within her—a pleasant, safe lassitude. _There's no need for violence. I'm only trying to help you, _said a calm and quiet voice inside her head.

Her fingers released the weapon without her volition as Raijiin's hands reached out to stroke her hair. The blond woman's eyes closed as if in pain, and reopened filled with moisture. "Oh, you poor thing!" she said sadly, and pulled T'Riss into her arms in a warm and sisterly embrace. T'Riss stiffened, her instinct to fight triggered by the touch, and then she felt a presence in her mind. The presence shared her pain - understood it in a way she'd never thought possible. And when all of her thoughts and emotions were laid bare, she realized that in Raijiin she truly had an ally. Their goals were the same. They were sisters in every way save blood. She felt Raijiin come to share in her hatred of the Orion Grigor-Tel as she experienced T'Riss' pain first hand. Her desperate need to destroy the hideous monster became Raijiin's need, and Raijiin's desire to escape from the Humans became her own. The feelings persisted even after Raijiin had severed the link. T'Riss wavered on her feet, and Raijiin assisted her to the bunk. They sat side by side, staring at each other warily.

"What just happened?" asked T'Riss shakily.

Raijiin, for her part looking equally dazed, replied hesitantly, "I think we just came to an agreement." Her eyes met T'Riss', and she took a deep breath to recover her equilibrium. Her expression became businesslike again, and she paused as T'Riss regained her composure as well. Then Raijiin spoke.

"You lied to me..." she said reprovingly, "...but no matter now. I think I know how we can do this."

#

Daniel snorted and scrolled the PADD back to the beginning again. For lack of anything else to occupy his time, he had requested, and been grudgingly given, an English translation of the newly discovered Kirshara. He was about to start his third read through, and so far most of what he had read seemed either self-evident or hopelessly obscure. Maybe the trouble was in the translation. But really, the Vulcan to English translation matrix was over 150 years old. The Vulcans had been monitoring Humans before the Wright brothers made their flying leap into history. The matrix ought to be pretty accurate by now.

"...'Nothing can be done until one has first cast out fear,' the man says," Daniel muttered under his breath. "Well, no shit. You can't accomplish much if you are too scared to think straight. That can't be what he was talking about." He scrolled back and started from the beginning of the passage again, just as the door buzzer sounded.

Daniel sat up and swung his legs off the bunk. Anything that broke the tedium was welcome. He headed for the doorway with something close to eagerness. When he hit the button and saw T'Riss, he felt even more pleased. He had been afraid that she would be too ticked off to want to talk to him anymore. Evidently not.

"Welcome," Daniel smiled. "Please, come in." T'Riss stepped across the doorway and pressed forward unexpectedly, pushing Daniel backward a step. He grunted in surprise and saw a blond haired woman step quickly through the doorway behind T'Riss, stabbing the door button with panicked haste.

Daniel continued to back up until half the length of the cabin separated him from his guests. "Good afternoon, ladies," he said cautiously, looking at T'Riss with an inquiring expression. When her deadpan face told him nothing, he switched over to check out the blond. At which point he discovered the blond woman glaring at him with something close to maniacal intensity. Daniel felt a scalding flash of adrenaline explode in his gut. Something about that skinny blond made him very nervous.

T'Riss flatly pronounced, "This is Daniel. Do you recognize him?" The blond move up to stand beside T'Riss and raked him up and down with an examination that left him feeling stripped to the bone.

"No," was the verdict. Daniel started feeling woozy for some reason - disassociated from everything that was happening in the room. He stood fixed in place, swaying slightly while the two women discussed him like some science specimen.

"What is his precise mission?" T'Riss demanded.

The blond eyed him narrowly. Then her face relaxed and she smiled. "Hello, Daniel. My name is Raijiin." She had a nice smile.

Daniel felt his face stretch into a foolish grin. "Hello, Raijiin. Nice to meetcha."

"It is nice to meet you also, Daniel," she cooed at him. "I would like to be your friend. Will you be my friend, Daniel?"

"Sure!" He nodded eagerly, so eagerly that he almost overbalanced. T'Riss put out a hand and stabilized him. She gave him a concerned look and shot Raijiin a glance. "Always glad to meet a new friend," said Daniel cheerfully.

Raijiin gestured reassuringly at T'Riss and stepped up to touch Daniel's face. "You know, Daniel," she told him softly, "friends don't keep secrets from each other. Do they?"

"No," he agreed. Her fingers were stroking the sides of his face and doing strange things to his blood flow.

"Tell me, Daniel," Raijiin asked. She leaned forward and whispered in his ear, "What are you doing here?"

"Standing," he said promptly.

She scowled and replied, "I mean, what are you doing here in the Syndicate? Why did you come here?"

"To trade," he told her happily.

"What else?" Raijiin insisted.

Daniel's forehead wrinkled. Had they come for anything else? They must have, or Raijiin would not have asked him. But what could it have been? Suddenly he remembered. He smiled, pleased to have remembered for her.

"To buy spare parts."

Raijiin stepped back, looking puzzled. "I can't get anything else," she told T'Riss. "He doesn't show any sign of recognizing me. This makes no sense at all. You know more about Humans than I do. Can they be conditioned to resist persuasion?"

"Yes," T'Riss told her tensely. "But only the most thoroughly trained operatives receive such training."

Raijiin sighed. 'Then I will have to probe. I dislike probing Humans intensely. Their minds are... difficult. But I can see no alternative."

T'Riss looked troubled. "Can you ensure that he will not be damaged?"

"Of course," she soothed. "I have done this before, more than once. Besides, Humans are quite resilient. Have you ever tried to probe a non-telepath? I will suffer more discomfort than he will."

"In that case, I advise caution," T'Riss told her.

"Of course." Raijiin stepped up and put her arms around Daniel. It felt good. She was nice and soft. "I like you, Daniel. Do you like me?"

"Mmm," he said incoherently. For some reason, he couldn't find any words. Raijiin pulled the back of his shirt out of his belt. He felt her run her hands up his back. Ripples of ecstasy flowed up and down his spine. Daniel's knees buckled, but Raijiin's strong arms would not let him fall.

Pictures began to form in his mind. Memories, old and new...

_He was in the life pod, crying. He was crying for Mom and Dad. But they didn't come. They were never going to come again... _

Raijiin whispered, "It is all right, Daniel. Shh. That was long ago. Tell me of things that happened later." She rubbed her cheek against his. The weakness spread, like a dark wave that rose up and covered him.

"_Again." The sticks clacked together. "Once more. Strike. Deflect. Counter-strike. Halt."_

_Daniel stepped back, dripping sweat and panting for breath. He bowed to the teacher, along with the rest of the class. _

A voice came from some where. A woman's voice. The picture wavered and darkened. "Not quite yet, Daniel. You are getting closer. But you are not where we want to be yet. Will you keep going? For me? Please?" For some reason, refusing that voice was impossible. He let the dojo fade into darkness.

"_That stuff any good?" Daniel was sitting at the bar, nursing a shot of extremely bad whiskey and feeling disenchanted with existence. _

_The scarred Andorian straightened up from stacking the last case and turned to look at him. Daniel saw something in his expression that made him straighten and brace himself. He had been in more than one bar fight on Rigel, and from the look in that blueskin's eyes he might be on the way to another one if he didn't watch his step. _

_The Andorian looked him up and down carefully. "Never tried Andorian ale, lad?"_

_Daniel drained the last few drops of the vile mixture in his shot glass and shuddered. "Nope. But it can't possibly be any worse than this cat piss they try to claim as whiskey."_

_The Andorian barked a laugh. "If that's supposed to be a Human drink, there's no telling what's in it. Qormil can't possibly afford genuine Earth drinks, not with the shipping and handling fees that the Vulcans charge." He tore open the top of a case and pulled out a bottle. _

"_Tell Qormil his shipment is short one bottle. He can deduct it off the invoice." the old guy informed the bartender, who waved in distracted acknowledgement. The Andorian sat down at the bar beside Daniel and uncapped the blue looking brew. "Slide your glass over here, lad. Find out what ale is supposed to taste like." _

_Daniel took a slow sip and smiled. Then he looked over at the Andorian and gulped down the rest in one swallow. "How about some more of that?" he requested with a grin. "By the way, my name's Daniel." He offered his hand. _

_The old guy looked puzzled for a second, then his face cleared. "Name's Jenrali." He took the hand and immediately let go. "My partner and I run the Lerteiran."_

"So..." The woman's voice was almost purring now. "We are much closer now. Tell me more about your friend."

Daniel reached back...

"_Oh man..." His mouth dried up. Daniel dropped his duffle bag where he stood and walked over to the reactor, ignoring the two Andorians and everything else in the room. He stroked his hands over the main control panel lovingly. "What's her top speed?" he asked hungrily. _

"_Originally, 4.5," the old woman told him with open amusement in her voice. "But now we are lucky to get four out of her on a good day." _

_Daniel felt his face split open in a huge grin. Warp four. This ship could cruise at WARP FOUR._

He sensed growing impatience, and somehow he could tell that the woman was starting to become tired. "Daniel. You are not being helpful to me. I thought you wanted to be my friend?"

"I do!" he protested sincerely. "I don't know what you want."

"That show me what I want to know, Daniel. Why won't you tell me why you are really here in the Syndicate? What did you really come here for?"

He struggled to form the memories. The meeting on Tenalor, the negotiations, the rendezvous with the Andorian transport to swap out the Tenalorian circuit modules for a hold full of Andorian ale. Then the long days of empty travel to the relay point where they sent the message to Grigor-Tel, announcing what they had and stating that they were prepared to negotiate.

Then more long days of waiting for the reply. Finally the clearance to proceed into Syndicate space, and the detour around the Horn Nebula. Spotting the D'Kyr and deciding to keep quiet about it. Haggling with Grigor-Tel over the ale, and finally taking the contract to deliver the grav plates. Then the running fight, the capture...

Daniel was shaking. No, he wasn't shaking, it was Raijiin. She was still holding him but her arms were trembling and she was about to drop him. "Take him," she whispered to T'Riss. The slim Vulcan woman caught him and steered Daniel back to his bunk.

He blinked his eyes. The fog that clouded his mind was starting to clear. Why were they here? What had they done to him? That blond woman... Raijiin?... she had done something to him. Drugs? Or something...oh shit. He remembered. She'd asked T'Riss about probing a non-telepath. That bitch had used her telepathy to invade his brain. Anger started burning along his nerves and he rolled over, swinging his legs to the floor.

"T'Riss!" Raijiin's shout activated the Vulcan like a thrown switch. She swirled and reached out, just as Daniel came off the bunk. He tried to deflect her arm, but he was still too shaken from Raijiin's manipulations to control his muscles effectively. T'Riss caught his shoulder in a perfect nerve pinch and everything went black.

#

T'Riss lowered Daniel's unconscious body to a prone position and straightened his limbs. She stood up and regarded her partner in crime, who did not look much better off than their prisoner. "Are you well?"

"I will be all right," Raijiin told her weakly. "He fought me every step of the way. But I got through, finally." She took a deep breath and reluctantly looked T'Riss in the eye. "I was wrong. He wasn't after me. He and his partners are just traders, as they claimed to be. They have no connection to Starfleet, or the Andorian High Command... or the Syndicate either, other than to trade with sometimes."

T'Riss stiffened. "You are telling me that we have kidnapped and attacked an innocent man?" Raijiin nodded, looking less than proud of herself. The young Vulcan turned to regard Daniel uneasily, wondering how to deal with this situation. Suddenly she became much less sanguine about their plan.

"We have gone too far to back out now," Raijiin insisted. "We have moved against a Human. Do you think your people will protect us from Archer now? Do you want Grigor-Tel to escape and go on with his life, raping and plundering other women at will - while you and I spend the rest of our brief lives in a Human prison?"

"Starfleet would not dare to abuse a Vulcan citizen," T'Riss returned, uncertainly.

"Perhaps not," Raijiin allowed. "But as for me, why wouldn't they? My people are weak and far away. What would stop them? Ask the Illyrians what Humans are capable of. For that matter, ask the Nausicans. They can tell you what Humans have done to some of their people in battle."

T'Riss felt her jaw muscles tighten and made a note to spend additional time in meditation that evening. "You are correct that we have committed ourselves to this course of action. Can you control Daniel long enough to make it to his ship?"

Raijiin hesitated. "Perhaps it would be better if you administered the drug. At least a small dose to assist me. My abilities are limited. Taking control of the skeletal muscles and simple persuasion are relatively straightforward matters, but attempting direct domination of a sapient mind that is resisting me... that is quite exhausting. There is a real chance that he might break free and turn on us before we reach his ship."

T'Riss nodded and pulled out a hypo. She attached an ampoule and pressed it against Daniel's neck. "This drug is listed in the medical database," she explained to Raijiin," as having been in common use for generations during Human interrogations. It is designed to leave the victim awake but compliant."

Raijiin stepped closer to the bunk and put a hand on Daniel's forehead. She made a moue of distaste and said, "Awake? I suppose you could call it that, if you want to be generous. Don't expect anything requiring swift reactions out of him. He is almost a vegetable with that poison in him." She shuddered.

T'Riss closed her eyes. There was no time for regrets. Every moment that passed, Grigor-Tel was gaining time and distance. If they were to capture him some sacrifices had to be made. The needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few, or the one, she reminded herself forcibly.

Raijiin continued to stroke Daniel's forehead and murmur into his ear until his eyes opened. She coaxed him into sitting up, and then into a shaky standing position. T'Riss looked him over critically. "He seems suspiciously unstable."

"Not a problem," Raijiin smiled. She slipped an arm around Daniel's waist and draped his arm over her shoulders. She stroked her fingers over his cheek and his eyes brightened. He looked down and his eyes focused lustfully on Raijiin. "You see?"

T'Riss suddenly started to feel ill.

#

Centurion Lorn was nearing the end of his shift, and looking forward to it. He was scheduled for a double off-shift rotation, since he had been pulling extra duty suppressing resistance aboard the Orion station. An extended period of meditation, followed by a long shower and an uninterrupted sleep period would be most agreeable.

Approaching footsteps caught his attention long before the trio came into view. The unusual nature of the group brought him to alert readiness. "Subcenturion T'Riss," he greeted the only Vulcan in the clump. "How may I serve?" Lorn glanced at the other two and firmly suppressed his disgust. The Human male was clinging to the unfamiliar alien female as if he were deep in plak tau. Such a display would have been reprehensible, even in a Vulcan who was suffering the full ravages of Pon farr. But a Human had no excuse for such excess. Granted that their mating urges were well known to be chronic and insatiable, but the least they could be expected to do was try to control themselves in public.

T'Riss glanced over her shoulder. She gave Lorn a commiserating look and stepped closer. Speaking so softly that only Vulcan hearing could pick it up, she told him, "The prisoner has been granted the privilege of a brief visit to see his friends aboard their ship. I have been assigned to supervise him. You may have heard of Raijiin's abilities?"

Lorn flicked a glance at the pair, now locked in an embrace, with the woman apparently trying to prevent the Human from working his hand inside her clothing. He sniffed and replied, "Yes. I have heard."

T'Riss responded, "Raijiin is coming along to ensure that Daniel Johansen does not entertain any desire to escape." She tilted her head significantly, and Centurion Lorn's eyes widened. So that was it. While the mating obsessed Human was fixated on Raijiin, he would have no interest in running.

"A most logical and creative solution," Lorn said approvingly. "I commend your resourcefulness." He reached for the controls in front of him. "If you and your companions will take position on the pads, I will transport you to the cargo hold aboard _Lerteiran_."

#

Selim walked into the confinement area feeling pleased. His sister had informed him that she was considering allowing him to accompany her on the remainder of the mission, provided her superior officers were willing to grant clearance. As his only surviving relative of the first degree, she had applied for custody. She presented the request for him to remain with her to her superiors using the logical argument that a minor child, especially one who had recently undergone such a stressful ordeal, needed the comfort and support of close family nearby.

Selim was optimistic. His faith in his elder sister was absolute. It came to him that it would be agreeable to share this news with his friend Raijiin. Perhaps learning of his good fortune would assist her in overcoming her negative emotions.

Selim's steps slowed in puzzlement as he approached the guard station outside the holding area. The station was powered up, but unattended. Selim was reasonably confident that this was a gross violation of regulations. He briefly considered reporting this anomaly to the bridge, but he considered that it was possible a justifiable emergency had called the guard away from his post briefly. Perhaps he should check inside the confinement area before reporting a problem, rather than escalate the situation without cause.

Selim opened the main access door and peered within. The light panels were set to night levels, but he could see well enough to tell that the guard was nowhere in evidence. This was ominous. T'Lar definitely needed to be informed. As a final check, he would ask Raijiin if she had seen the guard or knew anything of his whereabouts. Then he would contact the bridge immediately afterward.

When Selim reached Raijiin's cell he stopped in dismay. She wasn't there. Instead, the missing guard lay sprawled across her bunk, obviously unconscious. The force field was activated. The guard's weapon and equipment were missing. Why would she do this? No matter. His duty was clear. Raijiin was his friend, but T'Lar was family.

Selim leaped for the nearby master alarm panel and smashed it with his fist, releasing it and setting the system to automatic transmit. _ALERT! -PRISONER ESCAPE! - ALERT!_

#

T'Riss slid carefully backward until she reached the wall. With some support behind her she managed to push herself up to one knee. The throbbing of her skull was starting to localize in the region of her right temple, at the spot where Jenrali had struck her with the ale bottle.

"Don't try it, slut!" The voice rang from across the room. T'Riss saw Raijiin freeze and agreed with her decision. Sehlra's voice did not offer the slightest hope of compromise. One did not lightly provoke an Andorian in full battle fury, and the old woman who stood holding the aged pulse rifle was close to shaking with rage.

Jenrali knelt beside Daniel and carefully pulled back his eyelids, one at a time. "I wish I knew more about his people's biochemistry," he muttered.

"Check his pulse," Sehlra ordered. "You can find it on the inside of his wrist or the side of his neck. It should be somewhere between 70 and 90 beats a minute. Much more or less than that means trouble." She added, "And it should be strong, too. You should feel it against your finger easily. If you have to press hard to feel it, that's bad."

"We did not..." T'Riss began. The Orion woman whipped around and snapped the weapon directly at her face.

"Did I give you permission to speak, greenblood?" she demanded. T'Riss settled back meekly against the wall.

"Seems strong enough," Jenrali said after a moment of squeezing Daniel's wrist. "For all I can tell," he admitted. He laid the arm down and started patting Daniel's face. The young man blinked and grunted. Then he moved his head to try and avoid the pats, finally lifting a hand to stop them. Jenrali smiled and helped him sit up.

"How do you feel, boy?" Sehlra asked, stealing worried glances between her primary mission of glaring the two prisoners into submission.

"Dun-, Dunno," Daniel mumbled. "Kinna dwunk." He swayed where he sat and would have tipped over if Jenrali had not caught him.

"What did they do to you, lad?" Jenrali's voice was beginning to develop an undercurrent of anger now, although not anywhere close to what Sehlra was exhibiting.

Daniel licked his lips and tried to think. "Mind... woman... think..."

"What?" The two Andorians looked at each other in frustration.

T'Riss tried again. "I administered a small dose of..."

Sehlra tapped her trigger with a feather touch—just barely enough to make contact. A searing flash blasted out of the gun and scored the deck in front of T'Riss, carving a shallow scar in the metal approximately half a meter long and charcoal black. Sehlra looked straight at T'Riss and told her, "The next time you open your mouth without permission, greenblood, it goes in your eyes."

T'Riss decided that discretion was called for. These two were obviously in no mood for negotiation. Success for the plan was looking less and less likely.

"It's all right, lad," Jenrali told Daniel. "They drugged you, did they?"

"Lader dey did," he mumbled semi-coherently. "Firs' de woman did it."

Jenrali's eyes narrowed. "The woman did what, lad?"

"Mem'ries... telepat'..."

Two Andorian faces whipped around and pinned T'Riss to the wall as securely as if they had used nails. She saw the antennae on both of then pull tightly downward and turn inward. Sehlra raised the pulse weapon and took careful aim, while Jenrali stood up.

"Telepath." His word hung in the still air. "You're one of those melders. I should space you right now."

"I did it," Raijiin's voice unexpectedly cut in. "It wasn't her. I am the one who probed him."

"Fine," Sehlra snarled. "Let's space both of them."

"I offer compensation," T'Riss said desperately. She waited. This would be the only chance they had. Whether it worked or not would depend on so many factors, most of them unpredictable.

"_**Compensation!"**_ T'Riss dove for the deck just as Jenrali's arm flashed over to smack the pulse rifle upward. Raijiin screeched, the gun flashed, and a beam of blinding blue light hummed out of the weapon to slice deeply into the wall only millimeters above the cowering Vulcan's back. She could feel the scorching heat and smell hair burning.

"Enough, Sehlra," Jenrali told her. "We can't afford to kill a Vulcan. Not here. Not now."

T'Riss flinched. "Is this not proper Andorian protocol when one wishes to make amends? I now understand that all three of you are innocent bystanders in this circumstance, and you have suffered through no fault of your own."

"And you were so overcome with guilt that you had to hurry over here to confess." Jenrali sounded disgusted and disbelieving.

T'Riss was still flat on her belly, only her face turned up. "I was assigned to question Daniel. My superiors were convinced that he was a clandestine agent for Starfleet. When we confirmed that he, and both of you, were in fact innocent it came to me that perhaps we could help each other."

"Help each other?" Sehlra's voice dripped caustic bitterness and sarcasm. "Daniel helped you didn't he? Look what it got him. Mind raped and doped. The word of a Vulcan _rekloqvori_ isn't worth a..."

"Fifty bars of latinum," T'Riss interjected.

Sehlra's ranting cut off sharply. Both Andorians stared at her for a moment. Then Jenrali said suspiciously, "What are you talking about, girl?"

T'Riss took a deep breath. "My people have authorized the payment of fifty bars of gold pressed latinum, or its equivalent in trading credits, for the capture and return of Grigor-Tel, alive or dead."

"So?" Jenrali asked irritably. "What is that to us? We are not interested in the tub of grease."

"My people have repaired the damage that our weapons did to your ship," T'Riss was talking as fast as she ever had in her life, while her eyes never left the rifle in Sehlra's hands. "But you still have lost valuable time, and you have lost the value of the cargo that you were carrying. Has Commander T'Lar offered to compensate you for the hold full of ale that you sold to Grigor-Tel?"

"No," Jenrali's mouth twisted. Sehlra's eyes narrowed and her grip on the rifle tightened again.

"You are plotting something, greenblood," Sehlra growled. "Out with it. What do you want?"

"I want Grigor-Tel." T'Riss, despite her best efforts, despite long hours and days of deep meditation, could not stop the thirst from sliding into her voice. "I would think an Andorian of all people would understand this," she added, in a voice growing increasingly hoarse. "It is a matter of personal honor."

"Why is it that when I hear a Vulcan talk about honor," Sehlra muttered, "I feel like chucking up my icebear stew?"

Jenrali looked down at Daniel, holding his bowed head between his hands. "Your need to redeem your honor is so great that you must resort to treachery to regain it? Typical Vulcan logic. I would have expected no less."

T'Riss closed her eyes and drew back inside herself. She forced down all emotional distractions and returned to a state of equilibrium. "Regardless. I want Grigor-Tel and I know how to find him. But I lack a ship. I can lead you to him. If you capture him, not only will you gain fifty bars of latinum, but you will also establish your reputation with my people beyond question. You will certainly be granted trading privileges at any port in Vulcan space, even with Andorian registry."

"Just how were you planning to track Grigor-Tel?" Jenrali asked. "Did he tell you something about his hideout?"

"No," T'Riss swallowed hard. "While I was... his slave... a telepathic link was formed between us. A mating bond. As long as he lives I will be able to find him. I know that he is leaving the far side of the Horn Nebula at this moment."

"Why didn't you tell this to your own people then?" Sehlra pounced. "If there was any truth to this you would have had your own ships after him already."

"I did tell them." T'Riss gritted her teeth. "They did not believe me. There has never been a reported case of a mating bond with a non-Vulcan before. They will not believe me until the healer-melder arrives to confirm it. By that time Grigor-Tel will be long gone."

Sehlra laughed sardonically. "You Vulcans don't even trust each other. If this is not the true justice of the Mother I don't know what is."

"And what's her part in this?" Jenrali gestured at Raijiin.

Raijiin spoke up for the first time since they were overwhelmed. "I wish to gain favor with the Vulcans. T'Riss told me that if I helped her with this, she will arrange for her people to set me up in business on Risa."

The two Andorians looked at each other, then both of them examined Daniel. "Fifty bars," Jenrali said softly, shaking his head uncertainly.

"I suppose that you got your Commander's approval for this idea?" Sehlra sneered in disbelief.

"No," T'Riss carefully and slowly sat up. "However, before we left I installed a viral bomb on the _Sehlat's_ main computer. When I activate this control," she held it up, "the virus will detonate and temporarily disable their sensors and weapons. We will have approximately 36 minutes to reach the Nebula before they are able to mount a pursuit."

"You're insane," Jenrali pointed out in the most reasonable tone imaginable. "Did it occur to you that there is another ship on the far side of the station?"

"The _Le'Matya _ is currently assigned to station security," T'Riss told him. "A significant portion of their crew is not on board. By the time they could retrieve their missing crew members and undock, we would be far beyond sensor range."

"You're still insane," Sehlra stated unequivocally, "and we would be insane to consider it." Jenrali touched her arm and pulled her back to the far said of the room. T'Riss settled back against the wall, forgetting for a second about the scorch mark until the hot metal started burning her back. She yanked free before her shirt caught fire and sat cross-legged, shamelessly eavesdropping on the whispered conversation.

"...can't be serious!" Sehlra was berating Jenrali. "It's a trap. They sent her over here with this tale. As soon as we start moving they will have an excuse to finish us off. They know that we are going to tell the truth, and they want to have us all dead before that Human ship gets here. They can't hide what they did after _Enterprise_ arrives, and they know the Humans are finally getting fed up with them."

"But they would have one of their own on board," Jenrali pointed out.

"She's dishonored, like she said herself," Sehlra retorted. "She's a shame to them. Why wouldn't they get rid of her, and get rid of us at the same time? The High Command does things like that all the time. You know they do."

Jenrali glanced over at T'Riss and lowered his voice still more. She had to strain a little to hear it. "You know we talked about making a break for it anyway, but we couldn't figure out a way to get Daniel loose. Well, now Daniel is loose. And the security monitors have been running ever since I detected their beam in, so they can't claim kidnapping."

T'Riss lifted a brow. The aged Andorian warrior was thorough. It was a promising sign that he considered possibilities in advance and prepared for them.

"It won't matter if they shoot us out of space," Sehlra insisted.

"You are paranoid," Jenrali growled. "If they wanted us dead, we would already be dead. And so would Daniel. Why did they even bother notifying Earth that he was here, if they were going to kill any of us? You've heard the rumors, same as I have. The Vulcans are in trouble on all fronts. They can't afford to lose any more friends. They don't have many left as it is. After the way they abandoned the Humans when they were attacked, nobody trusts them now. Not even the Tellarites anymore."

T'Riss felt a pang. It had not occurred to her, but he was probably correct. Not only had V'Las damaged relations with Earth by his actions following the Xindi attack, but by refusing to help a close ally who was in desperate need, he had seriously damaged Vulcan's credibility with all of its neighbors. Indeed, her people could not afford to lose any more friends at the moment.

"I still say it's some kind of trap," Sehlra insisted. "If you want to try running for it, all right. But we should space these two first. You know they will charge us with kidnapping if they catch us with them on board, security records or not."

"You just want to kill a Vulcan because they smashed your engines," Jenrali reproved. "This girl didn't do it. She was on the station at the time. Calm down and think about what fifty bars could mean to all of us. Especially Daniel, as young as he is. Properly invested, it will mean a lot to his future."

Sehlra opened her mouth and stopped, looking frustrated. Jenrali turned and walked back toward the two prisoners.

"You two wait here with Sehlra while I take Daniel to his bunk," he ordered. "Do. Not. Move. Do you understand me?"

"Understood," T'Riss inclined her head. Raijiin bowed low to the floor, looking terrified.

Jenrali stooped and wrestled Daniel to a staggering prop. "Come with me, lad. Let's get you to bed. A few hours of sleep and a good meal will take care of you I think."

"It had better," Sehlra intoned grimly, shifting her gaze from T'Riss to Raijiin and back again, while she clenched the rifle in a grip that seemed hard enough to wrench it in half. T'Riss maintained a tactful silence.

#

T'Lar was in her office, located adjacent to the bridge, when the alarm came through from the confinement area. She calmly placed her stylus into its secure holder and activated the comm. "Security, this is Commander T'Lar. Report."

"_Commander, this is Centurion T'Riok. The prisoner Raijiin has escaped. Crewman S'Ran was rendered unconscious, stripped of weapons, and placed in Raijiin's cell. S'Ran is being transported to sickbay. Your brother, Selim, discovered the escape and activated the alarm immediately. The search for Raijiin is ongoing. I have assigned an armed guard to escort Selim to his quarters and remain there until relieved."_

"Satisfactory. Continue update reports as circumstances indicate. T'Lar out." She turned and retrieved her stylus, going back to work on the crew rotation schedule. With so many tasks to complete in such a limited time frame, coordinating the limited manpower of only two ships was proving to be quite challenging. She sincerely hoped that the anticipated reinforcements did not suffer any undue delays.

She was deep in calculating the balance of engineering personnel available for transfer to station maintenance now that repairs on the Andorian ship were complete, when the comm buzzed again. She paused with her stylus poised, debating, and then decided to keep it in her hand this time. She reached over with her free hand and activated the comm.

"Commander T'Lar here."

"_Commander, this is Centurion T'Riok once more. We have just discovered that the Human, Daniel Johansen, seems to be missing. He is not in his quarters, nor can he be located within the non-restricted areas of the ship. I have ordered a class one search of the entire ship for both Raijiin and Johansen. I will report at once if either of them is found." _

"Acknowledged. T'Lar out." She sat back and absently fingered the stylus. After a few seconds she activated the comm again. "Agent Senek to the bridge immediately."

Senek arrived promptly as expected, looking strangely bereft without his cloak. He had informed T'Lar that logic compelled him to retire the garment before gravity overcame its ability to retain coherence in the middle of a mission. He still had not located a suitable replacement. T'Lar briefed him on the situation concisely but completely.

"I suspect _Lerteiran _ is the logical place to look for them," Senek offered.

"Agreed," T'Lar told him. "That was also my thought. I suggest that you are the most logical person to lead the negotiations and, if necessary, the boarding party for this assignment. Do you concur?"

Senek looked thoughtful. "Naturally. I have the most experience with Humans. If, as now seems likely, Mr. Johansen has acted to take Raijiin into custody he is unlikely to release her without significant persuasion. Have you attempted scanning for their life signs?"

"Yes, but unfortunately the Andorians have been keeping their hull plating polarized ever since the repairs were completed. Most illogical. And we are unable to get an accurate reading through the interference."

"Perhaps not so illogical after all," Senek pointed out. "Not if this was planned in advance."

T'Lar's eyes were hooded to conceal her growing irritation. "Hail the Andorian ship," she ordered the Communications officer.

"No response, Commander."

"Continue trying. Are you certain that they are receiving us?" T'Lar asked.

"Yes, Commander," the young officer told her promptly. "All equipment diagnostics report optimum. They are ignoring us."

"Helm," T'Lar snapped. "Move to dock with _Lerteiran. _ Subcommander, ready tractor beam. Also stand by the forward port disruptor at lowest power, just in case."

"Acknowl- Commander!" Subcommander Verlen straightened and turned urgently. "Weapons have just gone offline."

As he spoke, the star field image main bridge view screen started rippling with waves of apparently random colors. Then it went blank. T'Lar's nostrils flared, but she managed to hold on, somehow, to her discipline. "All stations, report."

Verlen told her, "Sensors are offline. All weapons are offline. Stand by, checking additional systems." She sat back and forced herself to wait. "Life support is fully operational, no signs of damage. Engines and main power, no damage. Tractor beam, no damage. Communications, no damage." More waiting. Finally Verlen stepped down to stand beside her chair.

"I believe I have isolated the problem, Commander," he told her. "A virus program has infected the control systems for weapons and sensors. Security protocols are in the process of purging it. We should return to full operational status in 21.4 minutes."

"Satisfactory," she said tightly. "As soon as we return to..." A shrill beeping interrupted her. T'Lar sprang out of her chair. She had put up with just about enough interruptions. The Communications officer hastily adjusted the feed on his board to match the non-standard frequency being used.

"**Sehlat**. _This is Subcenturion T'Riss aboard __**Lerteiran**__. I have commandeered this ship for the purpose of apprehending the criminal Grigor-Tel. I have enlisted the assistance of Raijiin and the crew of __**Lerteiran**__ in this effort. I will return and surrender myself for punishment as soon as he is captured. T'Riss out."_

T'Lar sat back down slowly, carefully reciting to herself the basic mantra of first stage meditation. It helped a little. Very little.

"Subcommander Verlen," she said stiffly.

"Yes, Commander," he replied at once.

"Estimate the pursuit response time for _Le'Matya_, if I ordered them to follow the Andorian ship." T'Lar believed she already knew the answer, but it was always better to get confirmation of bad news from a second source.

"Forty-seven minutes, plus or minus, Commander," Verlen told her. T'Lar nodded.

"Probability that we will be operational in time to catch them before they reach the nebula?" She wanted to hear it all, with a kind of ghoulish satisfaction, just to seal it off properly.

"I estimate 3.41%, Commander," Verlen said, staring straight ahead at the blank screen.

"And once they reach the nebula, our chances of catching them?" The final grain of sand on the scales.

Verlen looked like he was trying not to wince. "With their greater maneuverability, and the sensor interference caused by the nebula, I estimate a less than 15.2% chance of catching them. Certainly not before the Human ship arrives."

Senek said idly, looking very tired, "There have been times in my career, when I have actually envied other races for having the luxury of venting their frustrations through cursing."

#

"Incoming hail from Commander Tormak, Captain," Lieutenant Sato announced.

Archer glanced over. "Put him on the main screen, Lieutenant."

Tormak's image cleared to show a man who looked as if he had experienced more agreeable days. His Vulcan facade was still intact, but it was showing some evidence of structural damage . Archer reflected that one more good smack would probably crumble it. _"This doesn't look good. I hope they aren't having major engine problems. We seriously do not need a delay right now."_

"Commander Tormak," Captain Archer said. "What can I do for you?"

"Captain Archer," Tormak actually hesitated. "I have just received unfortunate news from the _Sehlat._ It seems that the woman Raijiin has somehow escaped from confinement and fled aboard the _Lerteiran_."

Both of Archer's fists clenched. Indrawn breaths all over the bridge were expelled as growls and sub vocal mutters. He forced out between clenched teeth, "I believe that we were at some pains to inform both Commander T'Lar and the High Council of Raijiin's abilities. We also pointed out that she was known to be quite resourceful and proven to be dangerous."

"Acknowledged, Captain," Tormak returned shortly. "Raijiin was being kept in confinement under close guard. Apparently she was permitted visitors, and she somehow persuaded one of the former Vulcan captives to assist her in disabling the guard and releasing Mr. Johansen. The three of them transported to the _Lerteiran_, which then left the area at maximum warp. They disappeared into the Horn Nebula and were lost to sensors before they could be apprehended."

Archer closed his eyes and counted to fifty. He looked at Tormak and said, with all the calmness he could muster, "Thank you for the information, Commander Tormak. Please advise the High Council that since Mr. Johansen is a citizen of Earth, and since both Mr. Johansen and Raijiin were in Vulcan custody at the time of this incident, Starfleet will hold Commander T'Lar personally responsible for his safe return."

"Noted. Tormak out." The screen went black.

"T'Pol," he turned toward the Science station.

"Yes, Captain," she looked up from her viewer.

"Can that transport handle warp 5?"

"I would not advise it, Captain," she told him calmly.

Archer pressed his lips together and slowly nodded. He settled back into his chair and started rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

End of Episode Two


	3. Chapter 3a

**The Lerteiran Chronicles**

**Episode Three: A-Hunting We Will Go**

**By Blacknblue and 2Distracted**

**Genre: Action Adventure and just a tad of romance (eventually) **

**Rating: PG-13 **

**Disclaimer: We don't own the Star Trek universe. We just go there to play. Honest. We do, however, own our original characters and story ideas. You are welcome to borrow them, as long as no money changes hands. If we can't make anything from this, nobody else gets to either. **

**Summary: Grigor-Tel is on the run. Will our motley but intrepid crew manage to put aside their differences long enough to apprehend him, or will the authorities catch up with them first? **

###################################

_Daniel's palms were sweaty and his legs shook, but he took a deep breath and bowed to his opponent. Then he stepped back into fighting stance and clenched his fists. The fighter who faced him was smaller and slighter than he was-and she was a girl. He'd let those facts make him overconfident before, and he had the bruises to prove it. Kaoru was Sensei's daughter, after all. _

"_Ippon shobu... Hajime!" _

_He launched himself forward at the command to begin the one-point match, determined to make use of the element of surprise, but when he got there she was gone. _

_It was impossible. No one could be that fast, but there she was, a half-meter to his left. Her instep made contact with his solar plexus before he had the chance to react, knocking the breath out of him in a whoosh. He remained standing, though, and shot her a grateful look. Her control was impressive. Anyone else in the dojo would have had him on the floor gasping for breath with a mawashi geri. Instead, she'd used only enough force to make the point. She grimaced apologetically, smiling. _

_**She likes me!** he realized. He grinned back. _

"_Shiro no kachi!" announced Sensei, also known outside the dojo as Captain Takeo Sulu, declaring his daughter's victory. He wasn't smiling. Oops. _

_Kaoru left the floor after a reproving look from her father, and Gichin stepped up. He was Kaoru's older brother. Daniel swallowed. What was it the Amerindians of the Great Plains used to say? Oh yeah... "Today is a good day to die". _

_The rest of the Sulu clan, from little Mariko, age four, all the way up the stair steps of their dark heads to Sensei's younger brother Takayushi-san, stood in a solemn row along the dojo wall. They weren't smiling either. For the crew of the **Shokaku Maru**, karate was a very serious matter. _

_Kaoru sobered quickly as she took her place in the line up. She actually looked frightened for him. That couldn't be good. Apparently, it was time to teach the **gaijin** a lesson for flirting with his betters. Daniel gave the bigger boy a sickly smile. Six months on board working his tail off while on duty, and then training karate in this converted cargo bay while off duty until he nearly collapsed, evidently wasn't long enough to be considered one of the family. Daniel strongly suspected that six years wouldn't be long enough. He took a ready stance. _

"_Ippon shobu... Hajime!" _

_Daniel was more cautious this time. Gichin didn't have his sister's control, or perhaps he simply chose not to use it, and a broken nose was no fun. Daniel had learned that lesson the hard way. He circled the larger boy warily, trying his best to anticipate his attack. _

_It didn't help. Although Gichin wasn't as fast as his sister, he was plenty fast enough. At Gichin's attack, Daniel's hands came up reflexively to protect his face. He went down this time, curled in a ball and gasping for air after a single reverse punch to his unprotected abdomen. No pulled punches there. He waited for the reprimand for excessive force in a training exercise. It never came. _

"_Get up. You try again. More speed. Keep hands in position," announced Sensei sternly in his heavily accented English. Daniel squinted up at him in disbelief and wheezed, finally able to inhale. The injustice of it all hit him all at once, and tears sprang to his eyes. What did these maniacs want from him? He was fourteen years old, for cryin' out loud! He was a kid, not some half-assed ninja warrior! _

_I refuse to cry! Won't do it! Won't give 'em the satisfaction! he told himself stubbornly, but the tears came anyway. He gritted his teeth and tried to stand. The room went grey..._

And he woke up gasping for air at the memory of his humiliation. For a second, he didn't recognize his surroundings, and then the familiarity of his quarters aboard _Lerteiran_ comforted him like a well-worn blanket. He was home.

He rolled over in his bunk, head pounding, stomach queasy, nose still tender from breaking it several days before during their encounter with the _Le'Matya_. Maybe the nose was what had triggered the nightmare, but the rest of him felt like he'd been recently and intimately acquainted with several glasses of Andorian ale.

_Great. Home with a hangover._

Funny thing was, he couldn't remember having any fun getting that way. He sat up in bed, holding his head, which felt as if it were about to split in half and roll off either shoulder at any minute. Hazy memories of a drug induced fog and a voluptuous blond surfaced then, closely followed by the sensation of being supremely pissed off.

_Raijiin._

He gritted his teeth and stood up with a grim expression on his face. That was the blonde's name. She'd done something to him and somehow convinced T'Riss to go along with it, and now Jenrali and Sehlra were in danger. He staggered to the head, grabbed the bottle of aspirin, and threw a handful in his mouth, chewing as he unlocked his footlocker and retrieved the shockrod he'd picked up on Rigil for self-protection. He wasn't sure how effective it would be on someone of Raijiin's species, but at least he'd get her attention without blowing a hole in the hull. Then he planned to demand an explanation before putting her into an airlock for safekeeping.

#

T'Riss fought to remain impassive as the old Andorian freighter captain checked her restraints. The cuffs on her wrists and ankles, anchored to each other by chains which passed through eye bolts welded to the navigator's chair, bolts which had been welded by the Andorian woman only hours before, reminded her entirely too much of her time with Grigor-Tel. Although the cuffs were not uncomfortable, being made of leather lined with soft white fur, just the experience of being bound in that fashion again threatened her sanity.

"You may release me now. I have no desire to harm you," she attempted, without much expectation of success. Jenrali sighed and shook his head.

"Even if I believed you, greenblood, Sehlra would skin me alive if I freed you," he said with dry humor, "and I'm a lot more afraid of her than I am of you." He took his seat again in the pilot's chair. "At least I convinced her that I need you on the bridge. Would you rather be in the cargo bay with your little blond friend?"

T'Riss raised a brow at him. Given the fact that the cargo bay was kept at average Andorian winter temperature for the purpose of preserving perishable cargo, she didn't envy Raijiin her relative freedom. Vulcans and cold temperatures didn't mix well. And so she said nothing until her unwanted mating bond with their quarry forced her to do so. Her gut twisted as she sensed a change and deliberately _reached_ to find him in the vastness of space.

"Grigor-Tel is on the move again. He's changed headings... and from the rate of change in distance I'm sensing, he's traveling at high warp," she offered, managing to ignore her restraints once the more pressing issue came to her attention.

"Can you give me a probable destination?" inquired Jenrali, turning in his seat.

T'Riss studied the navigational console display. The Andorian nav computer's points of reference differed from Vulcan standard, but the mathematics were the same, and eventually she managed to identify Grigor-Tel's objective.

"He's headed to the Nausican homeworld," she answered, somewhat surprised. The planet Nausica was uninhabitable, made so by a series of violently destructive civil wars early in its people's space faring career. It had been a tropical world with warm seas and steaming jungles, rich in game and perfectly suited to a species which thrived on the hunt. Now it was a mud ball with a poisonous atmosphere. The remnants of its original inhabitants lived in orbital stations and in the multitude of vessels which traversed the shipping lanes of the quadrant, raiding and extorting tolls from unsuspecting travelers to the system and its surrounds.

T'Riss' fingers flew over the console as she spoke. "I am sending you the coordinates. I would recommend an immediate change of heading at maximal warp if we are to catch Grigor-Tel before he manages to gather his Nausican allies."

Jenrali studied her, for a moment looking as if he would object to her recommendation simply because it came from her. Then he shook his head, sighed heavily, and bellowed, "I need warp four, Sehlra. Our hound has caught the scent!"

#

Daniel went first to the engine room, reasoning that if Raijiin had taken control of the ship she'd be on the bridge and he'd need Sehlra's help to regain the helm. There was also a small part of him that just needed to see if the old woman was all right, although he'd never admit it to her.

He stepped around the doorway, flattened himself against the bulkhead with his shockrod at the ready, and found the object of his search safe and sound, standing at the control console and growling imprecations in Andorian at a bright and shiny new plasma reactor with the factory labels still attached. They were all in Vulcan.

"'Warp four,' he says," she muttered. Daniel had heard that she'd been displeased when the Vulcans had decided that, since replacement parts for the _Lerteiran's_ fifty year old plasma reactor were virtually impossible to find, they'd just replace the entire thing with a newer model without even asking her opinion first. Displeased was obviously a grave understatement, but at least she was alive and well. He grinned in relief.

"There's no, 'Have you completed your calibrations of the new reactor, Sehlra?' or even, 'Is the new reactor compatible with the old systems, Sehlra?'" she groused under her breath. "Of course not! He just wants warp four!"

"Sehlra!" hissed Daniel. Loud voices could be heard all the way up the access tube to the bridge, and he didn't want anyone else on board to know he was awake. The beleaguered engineer looked up from her console in surprise.

"Daniel, my lad!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing skulking in the shadows?"

He put a finger to his lips, shushing her and wincing, glancing meaningfully down the corridor. She eyed him up and down, assessing his condition as if she were inspecting a malfunctioning warp coil. "Headache, eh?" she commented sympathetically in a slightly quieter tone. He grimaced at her in frustration and, after craning his neck to make certain there was no one else in the room, ran to the reactor which filled the center of the room and hid behind it so that he couldn't be seen by someone entering the engine room. Then he turned to Sehlra, who was standing right beside him at her console looking at him as if he'd gone completely insane.

"Where's Jenrali? Is he okay?" he whispered hoarsely.

Sehlra rolled her eyes and sighed. "So that's it!" she chuckled. "I thought that slut had permanently addled your brain, boy!" She smiled at him reassuringly. "Jenrali's on the bridge with the Vulcan, well on his way to getting us fifty bars of gold-pressed Latinum. The telepath's in the cargo bay. We've got the situation well in hand, don't you worry. Just go to the galley and get some breakfast. You look like you need it."

He grimaced, and nausea welled at the thought. "No thanks. I'll pass," he told her. And then the significance of what he'd heard registered. He had a vague recollection of his partners' decision to pursue Grigor-Tel. He had no problem with that despite the danger. Fifty bars of latinum was a hell of a lot of currency. But-the cargo bay?

"The cargo bay? Hell, Sehlra, how long's she been in there? She'll freeze to death!" he exclaimed.

Sehlra seemed taken aback. "And I should care about this why?" she inquired ironically.

Daniel rolled his eyes. She seemed more pissed than he was, and that was saying a lot. "I've got some questions I want to ask that bitch," he said angrily. "When I'm done, you can turn her into a grape-flavored bimbo-sicle for all I care, but if she's dead she can't answer my questions!"

"Ah, I see," she told him, nodding thoughtfully. She let her breath out in a whoosh, and turned away from the console, whose display showed engine function within normal parameters and a steady speed of warp four. "I suppose we should go and see if she's still breathing, then," she said casually over her shoulder as she walked toward the exit.

#

T'Pol woke of her own accord at 0500, a full thirty minutes before her alarm and only five hours after falling asleep. Fortunately, she'd had sufficient meditation the previous evening, and so felt rested. She didn't, however, exit the bedclothes with her usual alacrity, for the primary reason for her early arousal still lay tangled in the sheets beside her, deeply asleep, lightly snoring. His bare skin was appealingly warm and smooth to the touch, and instead of rising she availed herself of the opportunity for skin-to-skin contact.

"Mmmmph", followed by a satisfied sigh, was Trip's incoherent response as she insinuated herself into the circle of his arms, wrapped her arms around his middle, entwined her bare legs with his, and laid her head on his chest. She could tell he was beginning to wake up when his hands began to roam. She paused with eyes closed to appreciate the sensation of his calloused palms brushing lightly over her skin from her shoulder, over her back and downward to mid thigh. It soon became clear, though, that she needed to say something to prevent them from being very late for breakfast.

"It's 0500, Commander. You need to get up and go back to your quarters to change," she told him softly. There was no indication in her voice of the unusual method she'd chosen to wake him.

"Lord, darlin'... It's just not fair to wake me up like this an' then just kick me outta bed!" he grumbled sleepily.

"Would you prefer that I wake you in another way?" she inquired innocently with her head still resting comfortably on his chest. "I have heard that a cold wet towel to the face can be very invigorating."

Trip chuckled, and his arms tightened around her. "Don't you dare! I like this alarm clock just fine," he said good-humoredly. He squeezed her ribs until she had difficulty breathing and kissed the top of her head. Then he released her and rolled out of bed with a groan.

"I really oughta keep a change of uniform in your closet and a toothbrush and razor in your bathroom. I'd get more sleep that way," he told her in a resigned voice as he headed for the head. T'Pol watched his retreating bare silhouette appreciatively in the dim light of her quarters, and then lay gazing at the open door of the bathroom while he made his morning ablutions, considering his statement.

It seemed that physical relations between them followed neuropressure now with considerable regularity. It was logical, therefore, for him to have a change of clothes and toiletries available for use in her quarters. Logic, though, had nothing to do with the emotions the idea of sharing a closet with him invoked. She had avoided discussing the full import of their mating bond, thinking that its intensity would wane with time once the novelty of the relationship wore off and Trip lost interest. He was, after all, human, and she'd been certain that his feelings for her were transient, in the manner of many other humans she'd observed.

It wasn't working out the way she'd expected. He was acting more and more like a spouse every day, despite the fact that he was completely unaware of their status as a married couple under Vulcan law. All the relationship lacked was official recognition by clergy, and her emotions were urging her to tell him so.

"So, I'll see ya at breakfast, right?" he said with emphasis as he exited the bathroom, fully dressed in his coverall from the evening before, unshaven but otherwise presentable.

"Agreed," she responded, and rose from the bed unselfconsciously nude, reaching for her robe. He paused before leaving, watching her with that particular sparkle in his eye which was an indication that he was enjoying himself. She ignored it, as usual, wrapping the silken garment around her snugly and tying her belt, but his reaction pleased her.

"And you're gonna have somethin' you have ta _chew_ instead of that watery green stuff, right?" he persisted. She gazed back at him tolerantly. His desire to preserve her health was commendable, but it was getting a bit annoying.

"You may ask Chef to prepare me three pancakes... with syrup," she conceded. He grinned, stepped forward to give her a kiss on the forehead, and then stepped out, looking both ways down the deserted corridor. The door whooshed closed behind him, and the room suddenly felt empty.

T'Pol stepped to the closet and pulled a uniform out at random, preoccupied. As she stepped into it she continued to ponder her current predicament. What would his reaction be if he discovered that he'd been "married" for months now without his knowledge? She could foresee no possible outcome in which he took the news without anger. He would see it as a deliberate deception on her part and be furious with her for marrying Koss when she was already "married" to him, and she wasn't certain whether she was capable of explaining that she'd been unable to tell the difference between the effects of their bond and the effects of her Trellium D use at the time of her marriage to Koss.

And that was the other thing. Her Trellium D addiction was still a well-kept secret, known only to her and to Dr. Phlox. If it became public her career in Starfleet was over. Phlox had kept it to himself for reasons known only to Phlox, but Trip was a Starfleet officer. How could she tell him? He would lose all respect for her. He might even report her for the good of the ship. Even though it had been months since she'd last used, she knew that a single moment of weakness would put her right back where she'd started. Enterprise had no Trellium D aboard now, but there were numerous testing programs on Earth and elsewhere attempting to determine its potential usefulness now that the Delphic Expanse was open for exploration. It would take a single subspace call for her to get enough to supply her needs for months, but each day she chose not to make that call. Would he trust her to continue to make that choice?

When she was with Trip, she could feel their once fragile connection growing stronger, but it could still be broken, and she realized suddenly that she didn't want to risk it. Not yet.

_I will say nothing,_ she decided. _Not until I am sure that he won't leave me when he finds out._

That issue decided, she moved to the bathroom to brush her teeth. On the way, she picked up the padd she'd left on her desk the night before, reviewing the material she planned to present at that morning's staff meeting. The situation with Raijiin was what she needed to concern herself with this morning. Her personal life would have to wait.

#

Having gotten nowhere with his long distance extradition negotiations with the Vulcans, Jonathan Archer had decided to contact Starfleet Command before the command staff meeting to see how things were coming from their end. It didn't look promising.

"But Admiral, our treaty of alliance spells out extradition procedures. We shouldn't have to jump through all these hoops to gain custody of a known criminal!" he protested, his fists clenched in frustration on the conference table in his ready room.

On the vid screen in front of him, Admiral Gardner sighed and shook his head. "If she were an escaped felon with a known criminal record that would be true, Jon...but she's never been convicted of anything. As far as the Vulcans are concerned she's merely a suspect, not a convicted felon," he told Archer. At the captain's offended expression he added, "And I know you were there and you know she's guilty... but they don't."

Archer sat back in his chair and regarded the admiral in disbelief. "So what you're saying is that the Vulcans think we're all lying?"

Gardner gave him a reproving look. "Of course not, Jon... but to them the benefits of keeping her in their custody outweigh the risks. Look at it from their point of view. The espionage she's accused of is old news. The information she gathered was never used, the enemy she was working for has been soundly defeated, and she claims that she was coerced into working for them to begin with. At the same time, the Vulcans are claiming that she's of vital importance to an investigation immediately pertinent to the situation in Syndicate space, and that she's no use to anyone confined in a cell somewhere. So they've granted her immunity from extradition in return for her help, they won't release her, and we're stuck. Our treaty with the Vulcans clearly states that if this woman was apprehended in their jurisdiction, they have final say over whether to release her to us or not."

Archer crossed both arms over his chest and exhaled forcefully. "So that's it, then. It's a done deal," he said morosely.

"Unless she's apprehended in Earth's jurisdiction, in which case the reverse would be true," replied Gardner blandly. "And the only area currently under Earth's jurisdiction in Syndicate space is your ship." At Archer's speculative expression, he added, "Not that I'm suggesting anything, mind you. If the Vulcans were to discover that she'd been forcibly removed from their custody by a Starfleet officer there'd be hell to pay."

Archer nodded slowly, eying his superior officer with a quizzical expression. Was the man actually implying what it sounded like he was implying? "I understand, Admiral. Thanks for the advice, sir," he said in a distracted voice. Gardner nodded briskly in return and cut the connection. Jonathan Archer blinked, staring at the blank screen for several seconds.

_So... if we can't just take her, we'll have to convince her to come aboard voluntarily,_ he mused. He raised a brow, smiling wryly. It could happen. He'd just send Trip to invite her. The man had a way with alien females.

#

She'd stopped shivering. Raijiin knew enough about hypothermia to know that was a bad thing. She didn't feel as cold now, burrowed within the foam packing material she'd discovered inside an empty crate, and at least she was wearing the insignia-less soft grey ship's coverall and non-skid booties she'd been given on the _Sehlat_ instead of the whisper-thin silk bathrobe which was the only article of clothing she'd salvaged from the station, but she couldn't feel her hands and feet. Her ears and the tip of her nose were completely numb as well.

_Frostbite_, she thought fatalistically. It was ironic that after all she'd been through that this would spell the end of all her plans. Even if she survived, who'd pay for the services of a pleasure worker without a nose and ears?

Even so, try as she might, she couldn't find it within her to hate the ones who'd done this to her. They hadn't spaced her outright, which is what she was certain the Andorian female had wanted to do, and the memories of the layout of _Lerteiran_ that she'd gleaned from the Human's mind revealed no other secure place to house her on board.

_They could have at least given me warmer clothes,_ a part of her whined pitifully, but she knew it to be an unreasonable expectation. Her guilt over what she'd done to the innocent Human boy-and he was still just that, only a boy in his naiveté despite his age in years-was unusual. Very little made her feel guilty these days; she did what was necessary. But his eagerness to please, and then the touch of his mind with the drug in his system, had reminded her of her early captivity and the drugs she'd been given to make her compliant. The comparison nauseated her.

The crate seemed even warmer now. Her eyes fluttered shut. It was such an effort to keep them open, and why should she? The human had her. He'd likely deliver her to Archer.

Even that once terrifying thought no longer had the power to rouse her. _Maybe it's better this way_, she thought muzzily. _This isn't so bad. It actually feels sort of nice..._

A rough hand shook her by the shoulder, disturbing her cozy nap. A harsh voice shouted in her ear, "Get up! Get on your feet!" Raijiin opened her eyes a crack and stared up into a wrinkled face with a distinctly blue complexion. The old woman didn't look pleased. Raijiin felt herself being hauled up by one arm, but despite her best efforts, her legs refused to support her weight.

"Damn slut's heavier than she looks!" griped the Andorian. Abruptly, Raijiin felt herself hoisted in the air over a strong shoulder. It wasn't the Andorian's shoulder, because the woman was following behind with a phase pistol held against Raijiin's temple. Although the surface thoughts of her rescuer seemed familiar, she knew better than to try a probe. There was only one person it could be, though. Despite all she'd done to him, the Human had come to save her. He likely had other motives beside her wellbeing, of course, but that didn't stop her from being pitifully grateful.

"You try anything and you're dead," growled the old Andorian female. And she meant it, too. Raijiin could tell just by looking at her, no telepathy required. She grimaced apologetically at the Human's ferocious protector, briefly wishing that somewhere in the universe, someday, there might be someone who cared for her enough to protect her like that. It was a very brief wish, because she didn't stay conscious for long.

#

"Hakar-Jan!" he protested. "We have been associates for more than 70 years! You can't be serious!"

"Grigor-Tel, you are an utter fool." The face in the viewscreen was impassive.

"How could I have known?" Grigor-Tel wheedled ingratiatingly. "With the spike ears obsessing over this new philosophy of pacifism, who could have known that they would react this way? They even staged a revolution and overthrew their planetary government! All for the sake of turning toward this... Surak's... teachings of peace and non-violence. How could I have known that they would revert back to vengeance so quickly?"

Hakar-Jan did not seem impressed. "You have brought destruction down upon yourself and your hirelings, but you will not bring it down upon me as well. The Council of Five has agreed. You are not worth going to war against Vulcan. You are meat. Begone from this system. Because of our old association I will give you a quarter of an hour before I open fire." The screen went black.

Grigor-Tel sagged back against his acceleration padding. Hakar-Jan was the richest and most powerful friend he had. _Used to have,_ he corrected himself with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. If Hakar-Jan was afraid to help him, there was no chance that anyone else would dare to touch him. What now?

The sound of a proximity alarm and sensor readings that showed five patrol craft closing on his position galvanized Grigor-Tel into action. For now, getting out of this system was top priority. Hakar-Jan was a man of his word. Grigor-Tel had never known him to fail in killing someone after he had promised to do so. He could ponder his ill fortune later. Right now he had to escape those fighters.

#

Daniel entered the bridge and stopped in his tracks. The scene before him was not at all what he'd expected. Jenrali was sitting in the pilot's chair with his feet propped up on the console calmly reading from a padd in his lap while T'Riss manned the navigation station. Compared to the rush to wrap Sehlra's newest patient in warming blankets before she went into cardiac arrest, and the insistent beeping of medical devices that he'd just left behind in the ship's tiny sickbay, the atmosphere on the bridge was positively tranquil.

Jenrali looked up from his reading and smiled when Daniel came in. "Hey, boy. You look better this morning," he said cheerfully. Daniel gave him a half-smile in return.

"I think the aspirin's kicking in," he replied, giving T'Riss a sidelong glance. She was staring with intense concentration at her console, which seemed to have nothing but a star map on it at that moment. "Sehlra sent me to ask if you need a break now that I'm up. She says you stayed up last night tracking the Orion," Daniel continued.

Jenrali stood up and stretched, indicating that Daniel should take his seat. "I'm going to get something to eat. Want anything?" asked the Andorian. Daniel's stomach growled. Evidently it was recovering.

"A cup of coffee and some toast would be good," Daniel replied prudently. Jenrali nodded and turned to go. Then Daniel noticed T'Riss' restraints. The eye bolts were obviously recent work, but the cuffs weren't a rush job. Two sets of icebear-fur lined leather cuffs with tritanium chains attaching them weren't items most people had just lying around.

"Where'd you get the cuffs?" he asked Jenrali curiously. Jenrali stopped at the doorway, grimaced uncomfortably and looked away.

"Ummm... Sehlra had them," he admitted, and then turned to head toward the galley.

Daniel cocked his head and thought about it for a second, and then decided he wouldn't pursue it. There were some things he just didn't want to know.

He turned his head to find T'Riss looking at him with a wide-eyed, solemn gaze. He raised a brow and waited.

"I am... pleased... that you are well," she began hesitantly.

"Well, that's nice to know," he replied caustically, "considering the fact that you didn't give a rat's ass about my well-being last night."

She jerked at his vehemence, turning her head away. Her eyes closed, and her Vulcan emotional control seemed in shreds, for he could see the pain on her face. Her fists opened and closed as she worked her wrists in the cuffs. He wondered if they were hurting her, but stopped himself from asking. He watched as she took several deliberate breaths, calming herself. Her hands came to rest in her lap, and she faced him again.

"I want you to know that I deeply regret my actions, and if I had been given any other option I would not have permitted her to...violate...you in that fashion." Her voice was shaking. Her eyes filled with moisture but no tears flowed. Even as his gut reacted to her choice of words with a sudden twist of anger, a part of him studied her with detached fascination. Vulcans didn't cry-or did they?

He sighed and shook his head. "Why did you do it, then?" he pleaded in a weary voice. The memory of Raijiin's presence inside his head, twisting his thoughts, affecting his desires, made him queasy again. "You of all people should know how it feels to be controlled...invaded..." His voice trailed off, choked by hurt and bewilderment. He'd thought that they were becoming friends, or at least allies.

T'Riss' expression, which had been the picture of guilt, was abruptly transformed into a mask of rage. "How it _feels_?" she hissed between clenched teeth. "I _live_ with the memory of how it _feels_ every waking moment of every day!" She began to hyperventilate, obviously trying to get her fury under control, but it was a losing battle. Her hands came up sharply to the ends of the chains that restrained them, clawed as if she were throttling someone between them. Her eyes were fixed on the air between her hands as if she could see the face of her tormentor there before her. She no longer seemed aware of Daniel's presence. Her fingers worked, and then she clenched them tightly together. Pulling her joined hands with effort back into her lap, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply for several seconds while Daniel watched wide-eyed. He'd been considering an offer to release her from her restraints, but realized now that it was probably a bad idea. Finally, her eyes opened. Her calm was strained to the breaking point, but for the moment she'd regained it. Her eyes met his.

"I did it because Grigor-Tel has to die, and I'm the only one who can find him," she said matter-of-factly. Daniel just looked back at her. This woman was obviously closer to the edge than he had realized.

"And of course, the end justifies the means?" Daniels asked her quietly. He turned away and slipped into the pilot's seat. For several minutes neither of them spoke, and Daniel kept his attention fixed on the controls while he checked their course and system's status.

"I truly regret the necessity of what was done to you," he heard her say. Daniel's hand paused in mid-reach over the panel for a moment. Then he drew it back and turned to look at her.

"Necessity." He tried very hard to keep his voice completely flat, while his anger flared dangerously close to the surface. "You considered it necessary to invade my mind, nerve pinch me, drug me, and kidnap me, all the while knowing that I had never done anything to you." He shook his head, exhaling in frustration. "I've said it before, but it bears repeating. If this is how Vulcans treat allies, I can only shudder in horror at the thought of what you must do to your enemies."

Her color darkened at the tips of her ears and upper cheeks, while her lips pressed tightly together. "If Grigor-Tel is not apprehended, there is no question that he will continue to victimize others in the future. I understand that you are upset, but no permanent harm has been done. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one."

Daniel looked at her. "For is it not expedient that one man should die for the people, rather than that all should perish?" he said.

Her eyebrows drew together, puzzled. "I... do not understand."

Daniel grunted. "It's a quote from one of our sacred documents. That's what one particularly corrupt judge is reported to have said just before framing an innocent man for crimes that he didn't commit."

"The two situations are not equivalent," T'Riss maintained indignantly.

"No?" Daniel retorted. "Do you have _any idea _how many millions of people on my world have been butchered in the name of the greater good? Throughout the course of our history tyrants have used the excuse that their political rivals represented a threat to the greater good, and therefore needed to be exterminated like vermin." He paused, and then added snidely, "Or maybe you think that Vulcans would never sink low enough to twist the rules for their own benefit?" He returned her glare with one of his own, just as hot.

"I know that I would be willing to give my life for the good of my people. Would you not be willing to do the same for yours?" T'Riss challenged angrily.

"But you're missing the key idea here," Daniel retorted with controlled civility. "Freedom of choice." T'Riss stared at him blankly. "I might be willing, or I might not," he persisted. "The point is that I need to be given the choice. Otherwise, I'm nothing but a slave." He returned to the controls, and silence. A sidelong glance revealed T'Riss with a very un-Vulcan expression of horrified revelation on her face. _Maybe my point is finally sinking in,_ thought Daniel ruefully.

In a few more moments, he spoke again in a near whisper, taking advantage of T'Riss' moment of receptivity to administer the _coup de grace._ "When Vulcan made First Contact with Earth, your population outnumbered us by almost three to one. We were isolated on a single planet and we'd just finished a major war. But remember, we breed a lot faster than you do. At present, our population is about 80% as large as yours. Within your lifetime, barring catastrophe, our population will surpass yours. Within two Vulcan lifetimes, our population will surely outnumber yours by a significant margin."

He paused to let her consider this for a short time. "When that happens, we will be the many, and you will be the few... or at least, the relatively fewer. What happens if we start getting crowded on our colony worlds, and decide that we need the room worse than you do? When our descendants come and tell you that we want your colonies, and that we have every right to take them because the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, how will you respond?" He kept his eyes fixed on the sensor readout. There was no answer.

#

T'Lar sat down at the conference table and glanced from Agent Senek to Subcommander Verlen to Healer Tyvek. "You both heard the message from Commander Tormak," she began without preamble. "Given the circumstances, I cannot find fault with Captain Archer's position on this matter. If harm does come to Daniel Johansen while he is in the custody of Subcenturion T'Riss, the responsibility will be ours." She folded her hands in front of her on the table and took a deep calming breath. If the advisors she'd assembled in this room could not discover a solution to the current situation, then her career was over. That was an indisputable fact, and no amount of emotional distress could change it. So she chose not to experience emotional distress. She tipped her head to her second in command, indicating that he should begin. Verlen consulted the padd before him and cleared his throat.

"Healer Tyvek," Verlen asked, "what do you estimate to be the probability that the subcenturion is being controlled?"

"Less than 6%," Tyvek responded promptly, and sourly. "Her actions are entirely in keeping with her delusional fixation that she has formed a mating bond with Grigor-Tel, and that only his death will free her from him. I accept full responsibility for not diagnosing the severity of her instability and confining her before this event occurred."

"If I may, Healer," Senek offered smoothly. "My medical expertise is minimal, but I have an extensive background in behavioral analysis. Nothing in my experience warned me that she was about to attempt this. She was obviously distraught, but I saw nothing to indicate that she had become irrational."

"Then perhaps she is not irrational." T'Lar let her words sink in. "What if her assertion is true? Hypothetically, what if she actually does have a bond with Grigor-Tel? And if so, what if she actually can feel him - nearby, but in the process of escaping? How would you assess her actions then?"

"Impossible," Tyvek snorted.

"I do not wish to hear the word impossible, Healer Tyvek," T'Lar reproved him gently. "Refusal to consider alternate possibilities is as illogical as ignoring the laws of nature altogether."

Senek rubbed one finger over his jawline. "In the hypothetical scenario you propose, I would have to assess her actions as desperate, rather than irrational."

"Yes," Verlen considered carefully. "If she truly believes that _Lerteiran _is capable of catching and apprehending him, then her actions are not entirely illogical. And of course, the reward money would provide the necessary incentive for the crew of the Andorian vessel."

Tyvek broke in as if he couldn't stand any more. "Such hypothetical deliberations belong in the classroom... or perhaps in a faculty lounge over tea. Out here we must deal with facts. The fact of the matter is this - the Science Directorate has determined that the formation of a mating bond with a non-Vulcan is impossible."

T'Lar ignored him, fixing Senek with a direct gaze. "Do you believe, Agent Senek, that it is possible for a Vulcan to form a mating bond with a member of another species?"

Senek returned her look. "In my lifetime, I have witnessed marriages between Vulcans and members of other species. All I can state is that the Vulcans in such marriages seemed satisfied with the arrangements. I decline to speculate whether it would be possible for a Vulcan to be satisfied in a marriage that lacked a mating bond. I do know, from my own experience, that a Vulcan is capable of making telepathic contact with almost any carbon based life form."

"You are a melder?" T'Lar looked interested.

"I am," Senek said. Not proudly, but not as if he were ashamed either. "It is still not a matter that I am comfortable discussing openly, as you might be able to understand."

"It would have been useful had you made us aware of this earlier," Tyvek complained. "You could have melded with the subcenturion and helped her realize her delusion."

"Unfortunately, no," Senek admitted. "The type of meld you are suggesting is beyond my skill, Healer Tyvek. Only a very small percentage of melders today are capable of the delicate control necessary for such an operation. If I attempted it, I would almost certainly do more harm than good, much like a general Healer who suddenly decided to perform deep spinal surgery."

"Understood," Tyvek looked disappointed. "It is disgraceful, how much knowledge has been wasted by our people through fear. When I consider how many lives were lost through the generations, for no better reason than blind adherence to custom, I am tempted..." He let his voice fade away, shaking his head tiredly.

"This has all been remarkably fascinating," T'Lar dragged them back to business. "But we need a decision. Since it is impossible for one of our shuttles to catch _Lerteiran, _any pursuit would have to be conducted by either _Sehlat _or _Le'Matya. _The question at hand is this, would it be logical to pursue them? Or should we wait for the arrival of reinforcements before attempting to retrieve our errant crew member?"

"I recommend pursuit, Commander," Verlen offered. "Not only is the subcenturion alone aboard a ship with two Andorians, which is bad enough in itself, but we are by no means certain of the Human's intentions. At minimum, we can be certain that his loyalties lie with the Andorians. He admits that much, and the other alien is a complete enigma. She might be capable of anything."

" Healer Tyvek?" T'Lar asked.

Tyvek closed his eyes and shook his head impatiently. "Of course we need to retrieve her. The child belongs here, in sickbay, where she can be treated and looked after."

" Agent Senek?"

Senek scratched his nose. "I am less concerned with her shipmates than I am with her surroundings. This is the Orion Syndicate after all. Granted, only a fool or a lunatic would attack an Andorian unless they possessed greatly superior fire power, but the Syndicate is full of fools and lunatics. The _Lerteiran _has weapons and hull plating, true, but a swarm of smaller ships or a much larger vessel could still overwhelm her. Also, we have no idea what kind of ship Grigor-Tel is flying, nor what kind of armament he has. I think we need to catch them. Quickly."

"Then we are agreed," T'Lar concluded. "Subcommander Verlen, have you confirmed our previous discussion about tracking the _Lerteiran's _wake through the nebula?"

"Affirmative, Commander," Verlen told her. "The reactor that our technicians installed is a Vulcan standard model. Its specifications are well documented, and its output emissions are easily distinguishable. In addition, the disturbance wake caused by the Andorian ship's passage through the cloud provides a clear trail. We will have no difficulty tracking them."

"Instruct the helm to lock our course to that trail," she ordered. "Pursuit speed ahead."

#

Kraktilini turned to jab the comm button with an irritated expression. "What is it?" he barked impatiently. "My meal has almost stopped kicking. Speak quickly."

Corolo hissed resignedly. "It's that fat greenskin that you like to trade with, Fight Leader. He wants to talk to you, and he won't tell me why. Says it's your chance to make more money than you have ever seen before in your life."

The Nausican looked back the small animal, still quivering faintly in its final death throes as the last of its blood pooled appetizingly on the plate, then back at the screen, then back at his dinner. He roared in frustration, swept the platter off the table with a furious backhand, and told his henchman, "Put him through! If this isn't worth my time, I will have your hide!"

Grigor-Tel's oily smile was a poor replacement for a fat _snorlu _as far as Kraktilini was concerned. "What do you want, Orion?" he snapped. "I am hungry. Make it fast or you will be the replacement for the fresh meal you cost me."

The greenskin did not flinch, for which Kraktilini gave him grudging credit. Grigor-Tel had some courage, at least. He started talking, and the Nausican got interested despite himself.

"So you're in the middle of a blood feud with your rivals," he said after Grigor-Tel had finished, "and they've hired some Vulcan mercenaries to hunt you?" Kraktilini looked skeptical. "That's the biggest lie you have ever told greenskin, in a long life that has been spent avoiding the truth like it was a pestilence."

"I didn't say that they hired the Vulcans as mercenaries," Grigor-Tel repeated patiently. "I said that they have given them false information to make it appear that I attacked the Vulcans. It is a standard tactic among my people. When you have an enemy that is too powerful to attack directly yourself, you arrange to have another enemy that is more powerful do it for you."

The Nausican snorted and nodded. It made sense. The Orions were as twisted and devious as Humans. It would be completely in keeping with the way they thought to come up with such a method. And since honor never entered into their calculations, they would not hesitate to use it.

"But how did you expect to pay me?" Kraktilini growled. "If your Orion enemies have blocked your access to the Syndicate network, you have no funding." He rubbed the grip of his sword unconsciously.

Grigor-Tel kept his eyes fixed on the Nausican's face. "I have resources cached all over the quadrant. Surely you didn't expect me to store all of my wealth in one place?" He chuckled, but his amusement sounded forced.

"Prove it," the Nausican demanded flatly.

Grigor-Tel hesitated a half second. Kraktilini's brow ridges darkened and his hand tightened on his sword. Before the Nausican's mouth could finish opening Grigor-Tel said heartily, "Of course, my friend. Of course. I will be happy to offer payment in advance... provided we have an agreement?" He looked tense.

Kraktilini considered. "One thousand bars. In advance." Grigor-Tel flinched and opened his mouth. "Or you replace my dinner that you interrupted." The Orion blanched. Kraktilini continued. "_IF_ you pay it, we protect you against anyone who comes looking - to the death. Choose. Now."

Grigor-Tel squeezed his eyes shut in agony. He gritted his teeth and forced out. _"Agreed." _

"Pay" Kraktilini was remorseless.

Grigor-Tel looked away and recited a long alphanumeric string. "The money is in multiple accounts. That code will open a vault in the central deposit on Tellar that gives access to the others. I will trust you not to take more than the one thousand that we agreed to," he said bitterly. "Since I have no choice," he added.

Kraktilini grinned and input the string, then forwarded it to his second-in-command with orders to pass along the information. "Tellar is not a safe place," The Nausican War Leader smiled at him. "We will take care of the rest of it for you, and keep it safe so that your enemies cannot get their hands on it." Grigor-Tel turned to glare fire at him. Kraktilini let his grin widen into showing all of his fine-pointed conical teeth. "After all, we are your true friends that you trust with your life, are we not?"

Through pale lips Grigor-Tel managed with a weak smile, "Of course. Have we not always helped each other?"

"And now," The Nausican laughed heartily, "we will each help ourselves."

#

Daniel entered _Lerteiran's_ tiny sickbay reluctantly. He didn't want to see the woman who'd mind-raped him lying helpless on a stretcher. Just looking at Raijiin made him furious. He would have preferred to wait until she was healthy, that way he could do whatever he needed to do to get the information he wanted without the guilt that her vulnerability triggered, but there was no time for that.

As he stood at her bedside with the steady beep of the cardiac monitor in the background, Sehlra bustled in with a hypospray in each hand and his inactivated shockrod tucked into her belt. She eyed him up and down.

"You ready?" she asked him briskly.

"Is she?" he inquired, jerking his chin at the unconscious woman. Raijiin's hands were swathed in bandages. She was secured to the bed with five point restraints, and her nose and ears were covered in burn ointment. He could see dark purple blisters forming already under the ointment, and her skin was so pale she seemed almost ghostly. Sehlra had bound the woman's blonde hair tightly behind her head, to get it out of the way in order to treat her injuries, he imagined. The result was hardly recognizable as the same woman who'd attacked him the day before.

"Ready as she'll ever be, I suppose. Her heartbeat's stable, her body temp's back up by five degrees, and I've got her cold burns dressed," replied Sehlra matter-of-factly.

"What are those?" Daniel asked, indicating the hyposprays in her hands with a vague gesture as he eyed the sleeping woman. She looked too fragile for his peace of mind. How the hell was he supposed to interrogate her?

"This one's a stimulant," Sehlra told him, holding up the hypo in her right hand, "And this one's a little present I got from a dealer in exotic drugs on Rigil." She smiled rather unpleasantly, holding up the hypo in her left hand for his inspection. "It's a Human drug, but it works on Vulcans and Andorians, too... called ketamine." It wasn't something Daniel had ever heard of. He took the device from her.

"What's it do?" he asked curiously as he examined the innocuous appearing colorless fluid within the hypospray's ampule.

"I'm not sure if it'll work on her, but for you or me it would be a dissociative anesthetic," Sehlra replied. At Daniel's clueless expression, she clarified her definition. "It'll help relieve her pain, but at the same time make her extremely suggestible. She should be quite cooperative."

Daniel winced inwardly. So now they were going to do the same thing to her that she and T'Riss had done to him? He gave Sehlra an uncertain look.

"I could use this instead," she told him with bloodthirsty enthusiasm, pulling the shockrod from her belt and activating it. The rod telescoped out to three times its prior length. Ripples of blue electricity crawled up and down the shaft like a tangled mass of hissing worms. They both studied the effect for several seconds. Daniel hated to admit it, but for a fraction of a second he was sorely tempted.

"I'm not sure, though, " admitted Sehlra reluctantly. "The way her heartbeat is jumping around, a sudden shock from this might be enough to stop it. Right now she looks pretty weak to me. Puny little bitch, isn't she?"

Daniel's eyes widened. "We'll keep the shockrod as backup and use the medicine, then," he told her, eyeing the meter long rod cautiously in the small space as Sehlra nodded her agreement, deactivated it, and shoved it back into her belt.

"Agreed," the old woman replied coolly. "She's no good to us dead." Then she turned toward her "patient" with stimulant in hand.

Daniel eyed both women with a wary expression. He'd always known that Sehlra had a typically Andorian attitude toward the use of coercion to obtain information, but he hadn't thought that she would be so... enthusiastic. _I guess the best friends are those you'd never want to have as enemies_, he thought ruefully.

The hiss of the hypospray was closely followed by a soft moan from the deceptively helpless looking occupant of the stretcher. Raijiin's eyes opened. She blinked, turned her head to scan her surroundings, then immediately whimpered and brought her head back to neutral when her blistered ear came in contact with the pillow. Daniel gritted his teeth and stepped up to the bed. Raijiin's eyes focused on his, cloudy with sleep and pain.

"Stay clear of her, boy," Sehlra warned him worriedly. "You don't know for sure how close she has to be. I don't want to have to stun you."

"I won't try anything," Raijiin whispered, eyeing Daniel cautiously. "I'm not that stupid." She closed her eyes again, clenching her teeth and breathing heavily, obviously in considerable pain. Daniel remembered reading somewhere that second degree frostbite was just as painful as burns, and she'd had nothing for pain as yet.

"Maybe," Sehlra looked dubious. "Start offering some evidence. Like answering questions without needing persuasion." She lifted the shockrod. "Know what this is?"

Raijiin opened her eyes, and then tried to draw back fearfully at the sight, but her bonds kept her securely in place. She swallowed, her eyes fixed on the shockrod. "Yes," she admitted shakily. "My Nausican owner used one on me before I was sold to Grigor-Tel. I know what it can do."

"Good," Sehlra looked pleased. "Then I won't need to demonstrate it. First question. What are you? Where are you from?"

Daniel decided to let Sehlra have first crack, and he crossed his arms over his chest, still holding the ketamine hypo in one hand, saying nothing. Righteous anger seethed within him, but the alien woman's helpless state inhibited him. Sehlra didn't seem to be having that problem.

Raijiin swallowed and glanced at Daniel, then back at the old Andorian. She hesitated and Sehlra casually pressed the activation switch, telescoping the rod out to its full length and all of its coruscating glory. A whimper broke out of Raijiin's throat.

"My world is called Oran'taku," she cried. Then she stopped, still staring wide-eyed at the shockrod as if its presence rendered her mindless, hyperventilating and wincing in pain as she worked her wrists within her restraints. Sehlra sighed.

"I can see that you are going to force me to be persuasive." Abruptly, the Andorian swung the shockrod around, but Daniel caught her by the forearm and stepped to one side, facing the small Andorian and turning his back to Raijiin to hide their conversation. "I thought we'd decided to use the drug..." he murmured reprovingly. Sehlra grinned evilly. "Just go with it, lad. Now you get to be the rescuer. Offer it to her. She'll take it gladly," she whispered back. Daniel blinked for a moment, and then managed to take her direction. With his back still turned to the prisoner, he came to Raijiin's defense.

"Put down the shockrod, Sehlra. The woman almost died today. Have a little mercy here!" he said.

"Why?" Sehlra asked, in the most reasonable tone of voice possible. "Did she show you any mercy?"

Daniel had to stop a moment on that one, smiling wryly at Sehlra's vicious protectiveness from an angle invisible to the prisoner, but he shook his head and continued. "Doesn't give us any excuse to sink to her level, does it? Besides, I don't think she's tough enough to take very much of that. Like I said before, if she's out of commission, she can't answer my questions."

Sehlra snorted derisively. "Doesn't look like her brain's working well enough to answer any questions at all right now," she complained. "I have never seen such a pathetic excuse for a woman. She wouldn't survive a day on Andoria."

Daniel turned and saw Raijiin's eyes narrow at that despite her pain. Maybe the woman still had some pride left, he thought. If he stroked it a little it might gain him some cooperation. And Sehlra had already given him an opening.

"I think she's doing her best, Sehlra," he told the Andorian seriously. The old woman's sour expression remained, but she stayed silent as he turned to Raijiin. "Maybe it'll help you think more clearly if we give you something for the pain... something to help you relax..." He held up the hypospray in his hand, looking inquiringly at Raijiin and trying to look as benign as possible. Her eyes met his in cool assessment, and then she looked back at the hypo suspiciously.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Exactly what I said. It'll make this easier for all of us," he told her with complete honesty.

She nodded, obviously understanding what remained unspoken, and closed her eyes with a heavy sigh. "Go ahead. I've got no need for secrets anymore anyway, now that _Enterprise_ is coming for me. The Vulcans can't protect me out here."

Her statement left Daniel wondering what secrets she was referring to as he handed the hypo to Sehlra and she administered the drug. Whatever they were, he'd soon find out.

#

Every survival instinct he had left protested loudly as he disengaged his engines and allowed the Nausican cruiser's tractor beam to pull his tiny ship inside the snug cargo bay, but Grigor-Tel was left with no choice in the matter. Kraktilini had insisted that the best defense was a good offense, and was bringing him aboard to track the Vulcan who was pursuing him. As he was being pulled in, he transmitted the coordinates of her probable location, as best as he had been able to calculate with the limited equipment he had aboard his little ship.

The idea that the Vulcan bitch had somehow gotten inside his head made him sick to his stomach, but when he'd admitted to his new ally that he could tell she was approaching the Nausican system-and from which direction-the hideous creature had been pleased. He'd said something about a hunt being the most rewarding of all pastimes. Grigor-Tel could appreciate that sentiment, of course, but not when he was the designated prey.

The cargo bay had barely begun to repressurize when his ship's sensors detected the ship which had just swallowed him going to warp. An incoming transmission activated his vid screen, and Kraktilini's ugly face suddenly appeared in front of him. The alien was chewing. Grigor-Tel shuddered to speculate about _what_ he was chewing, but he'd at least be in a better mood after a meal.

"Ah! Grigor-Tel! Welcome aboard," exclaimed Kraktilini ironically with his mouth full. He gestured with what appeared to be one limb of a small animal in his fingers, complete with fur and claws. He was in a much more expansive mood now that his funds - Grigor-Tel's funds no longer - had been confirmed and transferred. It was hard to tell, but he seemed to have the Nausican equivalent of a smile on his face. The Orion smiled back wanly.

"I'm grateful for the hospitality, my friend," he said with a valiant attempt at sincerity. Disregarding all the rules of polite social intercourse, he pressed on. "Have your scouts recently reported any ships where I said the Vulcan would be?"

Kraktilini swallowed, stuffed the last bit of his dinner into his mouth, crunching noisily, and reached forward to transfer a file. "I'd do this in person, but I don't think we have time. You'll need to launch again in less than an hour if this is the ship you mean. It's not Vulcan...far from it... but it's the only ship approaching the coordinates you specified. Do you know it?"

Grigor-Tel opened his mouth to demand an explanation for being so rudely rushed - after all, he'd only just come aboard, and he hadn't eaten anything but dehydrated concentrates in nearly a week. After what he'd been paid, the least the Nausican could do was to provide a beverage and a hot meal. Then the Nausican scout's recording began playing back on his viewscreen.

The ship was familiar, of course. He'd seen it attacked and captured by one of the D'Kyr cruisers during the Vulcans' assault on the station. Had the Vulcans commandeered it? If that were the case, it wasn't good news. Andorian freighters were notoriously tough. He studied the ship closely for several seconds. It was an old model. Who had they found to pilot the thing? The Vulcans would surely have killed Jenrali and his hag of an engineer. Even if the Human boy was still alive, Grigor-Tel doubted that he could handle the ship. The pilot was probably a Vulcan with no previous experience flying Andorian spacecraft. That could be to his advantage. With a ship that size, maneuverability had a great deal to do with the skill of its pilot.

"I know it well. It's the _Lerteiran_, and probably being flown by an inexperienced Vulcan crew," he reported to Kraktilini confidently. "If you'll give me a chance to get aboard your vessel we can discuss strategy. I believe even an Andorian freighter should be relatively easy to overcome with a ship such as yours." The Nausican cruiser wasn't any bigger than the Andorian vessel, but it positively bristled with armaments of all shapes and sizes.

The Nausican reappeared on the screen, still showing his gut churning, pointy teeth-baring almost-smile. "I agree that we will be victorious, Grigor-Tel... but I have no need of a strategy session. We will arrive at our ambush location in three quarters of a standard hour. Make ready to launch your vessel when we arrive."

"Launch?" repeated Grigor-Tel in a bewildered voice. The Nausicans were supposed to protect him. Why would they force him to leave the relative safety of their vessel after bringing him even closer to his pursuer?

"Of course," replied the Nausican in a patient voice, the sort one reserves for explaining the actions of adults to a child. "We're not just leaving you there. We'll be hiding within the asteroid belt at the outskirts of the system, waiting for the Vulcans," he told the Orion.

"And what will I be doing?" asked Grigor-Tel. He suspected that he knew the answer to his question already, but asked it anyway, hoping that perhaps he might be wrong. He wasn't.

"Doing?" replied Kraktilini with anticipatory relish. "Why, my friend... you're the bait."

#

Security Chief Lieutenant Malcolm Reed sat at the table in the briefing room and studied the faces around him unobtrusively, trying to decide what his next move should be. It was quite obvious that Starfleet had the captain's hands tied regarding the situation with Raijiin. It was equally obvious that _someone_ had to see that justice was done. The orders he'd received from Section 31 the previous evening had therefore come as no surprise.

In the months since his revelation to the captain about his dual allegiance, both he and Jonathan Archer had followed a "don't ask, don't tell" policy regarding his contacts with Section 31. Reed had made it clear to the Section that his allegiance was to _Enterprise_ first and foremost, and to Harris' credit, this assignment was the first mission of any significance since. Unfortunately, Reed knew that if he were to be apprehended by the Vulcans in the pursuit of his current assignment, it would mean the end not only of his own public Starfleet career, but probably also that of his commanding officer, not to mention any other Starfleet officers foolish enough to involve themselves. He was, however, fresh out of potential helpers who weren't Starfleet officers, and accomplishing the task alone would be a virtually impossible feat.

_So..._ he mused, _Who can I ask for help?_ The captain was out, of course. So was Commander T'Pol, by virtue of both her race and her status as second in command. He'd come to trust her, but not enough to expect her to violate both her oath as a Starfleet officer and the wishes of the government of her home world. That Commander Tucker was completely trustworthy was a given. He was even more likely to bend the rules in the cause of justice than Malcolm was himself, but Reed wondered whether the brash southerner wasn't too emotionally close to the problem. Reed wanted Raijiin in custody because of the potential for future danger and because he'd been ordered to bring her in. He was a realist. To him, revenge was neither a useful pastime nor a reasonable excuse to risk his career. Trip, on the other hand...

Commander Tucker breezed into the room with a cup of coffee in hand and a smile on his face, closely followed by their serene appearing First Officer. The engineer put his coffee cup down on the table, turned, and pulled out a chair for the Vulcan. She sat, blithely ignoring the courtesy, but not complaining about it either. It was obvious that Tucker had done this many times before; it had the smoothness of habit about it. No one in the room paid the two of them the slightest notice, but it had been obvious to Malcolm for some time that they were a couple.

It wasn't overt. A stranger would probably not even notice unless said stranger happened to be looking at one of them when they made eye contact with each other, but it was those non-verbal exchanges that forced Reed to eliminate Trip Tucker from his pool of potential co-conspirators. He was certain that should Trip Tucker ever encounter Raijiin with a weapon in his hands and no witnesses, the alien woman who had assaulted T'Pol would no longer be of use to anyone-except possibly as fertilizer-and Section 31 wanted Raijiin alive.

Then Lieutenant Sato entered the room. Reed allowed himself the brief luxury of admiring her lithe figure before his cognitive functions kicked in. She'd been assaulted by Raijiin herself, and would probably be just as likely as Trip to blow the woman away given the right set of circumstances, but...

Reed suddenly realized that he wouldn't need anyone to come in direct contact with the alien before taking the woman into custody, provided he could use Hoshi's skills to recruit a little further afield.

He smiled.

Captain Archer entered the room, looking as if he were determined to make the best of a bad situation. He took his seat at the head of the table, and the room hushed expectantly.

"I've called this briefing to update all of you," he told them matter-of-factly. "We've had a change in our mission parameters."

Malcolm's brow wrinkled in puzzlement. He hadn't heard of any changes.

"I've just been notified that the Vulcan cruiser _Sehlat_ has left the vicinity of the captured Orion Station to pursue a ship full of fugitives. Raijiin is aboard the escaped ship. So is the Boomer Daniel Johansen. Since our orders were to rendezvous with the _Sehlat_ to discuss the fates of Mr. Johansen and Raijiin, I have decided to pursue. As of 0700 ship's time today, with the permission of the Orion Syndicate's Council of Five and the cooperation of the Vulcan High Council, the _Enterprise_ entered Syndicate space on a pursuit course through the Horn Nebula, following the _Sehlat_ toward the Nausican system. Our Vulcan escorts will proceed to the station to begin offering medical services and to assist with the evacuation of station inhabitants."

Malcolm's grin got wider. _The captain's going Raijiin hunting!_ he thought with delight. It was about time the man grew a spine. He'd noticed,though, that the captain hadn't mentioned getting an authorization from Starfleet Command. Malcolm wasn't surprised. Starfleet Command wasn't going to like this plan unless someone high up the command chain was willing to risk open conflict with the Vulcans, and that wasn't likely. Not bloody likely at all.

#

_The Human actually told the truth,_ marveled Raijiin muzzily. Her frostbitten hands, ears, and nose hardly hurt at all. The drug _was_ a pain reliever. It was also quite obviously something else as well, judging from the way she was feeling now. Here she was, probably scarred for life, strapped down in five point restraints waiting to be interrogated by a shockrod-happy Andorian, with an entire ship full of Humans coming for her to hand her over to Archer, and she felt positively _wonderful_.

"Is it working yet, do you think?" The Human's question registered distantly. She opened her eyes and smiled benignly at him. The Andorian woman peeked around the Human and regarded her sourly.

"Seems like it to me," she told him. "She looks like she wants to bear your children."

The Human snorted at that, and then studied Raijiin's face more closely. She was having trouble focusing. First there were two of him, and then one. She split the difference and smiled gratefully at a point somewhere in between. "Than' you for the pain med'cine," she managed, only slurring a little bit. "I feel mush better now."

"I think we gave her too much," the Human complained.

Raijiin felt another sting in the side of her neck as she heard the hiss of a hypospray. Her vision cleared somewhat, and she instantly felt more alert.

"There," said the Andorian. "That's all the stim I can give her for a while, but it should help."

Raijiin blinked and tried to concentrate. The pain was still gone, and she felt no fear or anxiety at all. That alone should have awakened her self-protective instincts. In her current situation, calmness was definitely an abnormal state of affairs, but she couldn't even rouse enough interest in her surroundings to wonder why she was so serene. She knew where she was and what was happening in a distant "watching from the outside" sort of way, but it didn't seem real to her.

"Raijiin, can you hear me? It's Daniel, the guy you attacked yesterday," said the Human. His face was grim and angry. She felt guilt over her actions, but only remotely. Like her fear, it had little power to affect her now. She still felt compelled to say something.

"Yes. I'm sorry I had to do that. I didn't know you weren't after me..." Her voice trailed off, and her eyes began to close. She was so warm and sleepy.

"Wake up!" shouted the Andorian. Raijiin's eyes snapped open at the sound of the shockrod being activated. It snapped and crackled like a living thing.

"I mean what I say, girl, and I won't hold still for any games," threatened the old woman. Raijiin looked to Daniel for help, but he stood there impassively with his arms crossed over his chest.

"You'll stay alert now, and answer Daniel's questions. Keep talking. Tell us everything you know about the question until we tell you to stop, got it? Or do you want to remember what this thing feels like first hand?" added Sehlra, holding the rod with its pulsating web of electricity a handspan from Raijiin's face.

The drug prevented the terror, but it didn't prevent Raijiin from remembering exactly how much her previous owner had enjoyed using his shockrod on her in an inventive variety of ways, and how much agony the relatively innocuous, non-lethal device could inflict. It was a powerful incentive to stay alert.

"I'm sorry," she said sincerely, if a bit drowsily. "I'm awake."

"Good," retorted Daniel brusquely. "Now. Tell me who you are and where you're from."

As she began to speak, the words seemed to flow without her volition. She held nothing back. It was impossible to do so anyway. Daniel stopped her when she'd reached the tenth year of her captivity and her fifth owner, who'd enjoyed sharing her with his friends and business associates while he watched.

"Okay... stop there. I think I know enough about who you are," he told her with a look of vague disgust. "You say you're a telepath. Tell me more about that."

"All of my people have telepathic abilities to a greater or lesser extent," she told him sleepily. "We can affect emotions from a short distance and share thoughts with a touch. My Xindi owners in particular found my information gathering skills more useful than my other talents. They used me to gather information for their war effort." Raijiin volunteered this information without hesitation, aware of regret and sadness over what she'd been forced to do, but at that moment unable to experience them because of the drug. It didn't occur to her to be fearful of his reaction, floating as she was in a sea of chemical tranquility.

"Xindi! You work for the Xindi? Is that why you attacked me? Were you working for them when they fried every friend I ever had on Earth?" pressed the Human furiously. Raijiin could see that he was getting very distressed, even in her drugged state and without the use of any telepathic skill at all. The Andorian woman put a hand on his arm but he shrugged it off, staring daggers at Raijiin. Raijiin instinctively tried to reach him to make telepathic contact, to make him understand, but the drug dulled her abilities. She considered trying to use eye contact to calm him down, but an attempt at pacification from a distance was too risky. The Andorian might kill her.

"Yes... I mean... no, they don't own me anymore and my bargain with T'Riss has got nothing to do with them, but yes... they did still own me during the war, and they used me for gathering intelligence about Humans and Vulcans." She could see that her statements were just making him angrier. "But I had nothing to do with the weapon they used to attack Earth!" she protested weakly. "I was property to them. I never worked for them voluntarily. I had no choice."

Daniel held his fists clenched at his sides as he stared at her. She could sense his surface thoughts-he was practically projecting them-uncontrolled thoughts of violence and revenge. Although the drug prevented it, she was certain that some part of her was afraid to die. As it was, she simply closed her eyes and waited. She'd sensed similar rage from other captors in the past. Each time, after the beating which usually followed, she'd been surprised to wake up again. Maybe this time she wouldn't. Considering her current situation, perhaps that wasn't such a bad thing.

"Is that why Starfleet wants you? Because you spied for the Xindi?" asked Daniel coldly. She opened her eyes, remotely surprised despite the drug. The Human had calmed himself. The potential for violence remained, but he'd harnessed it, transforming it into something hard and heartless and useful.

"Partly," she told him hesitantly, "and partly, I think, because I dared to embarrass the great Jonathan Archer. He'll want revenge." Her thought processes remained foggy, but she was certain of it. The tales she'd heard of the Human captain had left no doubt in her mind. Daniel seemed unconcerned.

"And what about this 'bargain' with T'Riss? What's the truth in that?" he persisted. "What have you done to her?"

"I've done nothing to her," Raijiin replied honestly. "She came to me." At Daniel's skeptical look, she said, "Until I probed your mind we were both convinced that you were an undercover Starfleet agent sent to capture me. Even her superiors believed it. When we discovered the truth we decided that we'd gone too far to let the matter drop, and we came on board to enlist the help of your crew mates in locating and eliminating Grigor-Tel." She closed her eyes again despite the shockrod, and yawned. All the talking was just so tiring...

The Human jumped on her admission, "So you had no intention of bringing him back alive?" he challenged.

Raijiin blinked back at him placidly. "Killing him wasn't in my original plan," she told him through her veil of chemically induced calm, "but T'Riss insisted."

The Human and the Andorian exchanged startled glances at that.

"_Daniel, lad... you'd best get up here,"_ came Jenrali's voice over the comm from the bridge. The Human shot her an angry look, as if to say he wasn't quite finished with her yet, and then stepped to the comm to answer. Raijiin relaxed finally, watching him through half-closed lids.

"What is it, Jenrali? We're kinda busy with Raijiin right now," he growled.

"_She isn't going anywhere, boy,"_ responded Jenrali reprovingly. _"We're entering Nausican space, and the Vulcan says Grigor-Tel's turned 'round and is headed back toward us. I need you at the weapons console. Right now!"_

The Human exhaled heavily. "I'm on my way." He turned to the Andorian, who still held the activated shockrod in one hand. She smiled wryly and made a shooing motion with her free hand.

"Go on, Daniel... and don't worry, boy," put in the fierce old Andorian woman, "I'll keep an eye on the bitch. Don't you concern yourself about that." Her eyes gleamed as she brandished the shockrod.

Daniel shook his head, and then looked back at Raijiin with an unreadable expression. He was across the room now, and his thoughts were inaccessible. Raijiin could only hope she'd made him understand.

As she was finally allowed to go to sleep under the watchful eye of her eager Andorian guard, Raijiin pondered the Human's unexpected restraint. Judging from the way the Andorian kept glaring at her, the Human seemed the most reasonable of her captors, and certainly the least bloodthirsty. Perhaps Archer wasn't typical of the species.

#

Grigor-Tel felt cold sweat trickle down the center of his back. He watched the sensor readings that marked the position of _Lerteiran _with the all horrified fascination of a Nausican _snorlu _watching the approach of a Terran bobcat. For once, Grigor-Tel cursed his obsession with beast fighting entertainments. He had seen far too many kill scenes, and he could envision any of them at will. There were so many different ways for a living creature to die.

The comm screen lit up and Kraktilini's visage filled the space. Ordinarily hideous, right then he looked like the loveliest being in the galaxy to Grigor-Tel. "Hold your position in orbit around the fifth planet," the Nausican ordered. "Pretend that you have not detected them. Make no response until they move into attack position. When I give the signal, dive for the planet's surface and skim low through the atmosphere until you reach the far side. Break out of orbit and head directly for the eleventh planet at full impulse. Two of my fighters will be waiting to escort you. Understood?"

"Understood," Grigor-Tel told him, surreptitiously wiping his palm off on his pudgy thigh. "Don't wait too long. Those Vulcans have fast reflexes, and I'm not as young as I once was."

The Nausican roared with laughter. "What is your problem, Grigor-Tel? Surely you do not wish to die in bed? What more could any warrior ask than a fair death in open combat like this?" But he covered his teeth and more soberly added, "I remember our bargain. We will keep you alive. Just do what I say and you will leave this system to cheat again. Stand by for my signal." The screen went blank.

#

Captain Archer looked oddly at the padd, then glanced up at Malcolm and tilted his head. "Any particular reason for this, Lieutenant? Communications isn't usually your bailiwick."

Reed held himself at attention and replied, "Merely a security precaution, sir. I considered the possibility that we might need to contact Mr. Johanson confidentially, without the Vulcans eavesdropping. With the data that Lieutenant Sato was able to obtain from analyzing the wreckage of the Kumari, it seems likely that these protocols would permit us to access the Andorian comm linkages without the Vulcans being aware of it."

Archer absently tapped the corner of the padd against the surface of his desk, looking blankly into the distance. "You aren't planning anything that would endanger the health or safety of any member of my crew, are you Malcolm?"

"Perish the thought, sir!" Lieutenant Reed responded in a scandalized voice.

"You're not going to start a war, or endanger our alliance with Vulcan?"

"Most definitely not, sir." Malcolm looked wounded. "I would never consider doing anything of the sort."

"You won't force us to shoot any innocent bystanders?"

"Not if I can possibly help it, sir."

"In that case," Archer pressed a few buttons, and scribbled something across the padd with his stylus. "I have no desire to know anything whatsoever concerning what you are doing or why. I am blissfully satisfied with my ignorance of this subject, and I sincerely hope to keep it intact until my final breath. Is that understood, Lieutenant?"

"Absolutely, sir. You can depend on me, sir," Malcolm said with deep satisfaction as he took the padd and left. Now all he had to do was talk Hoshi into going along with it.

#

Daniel swung himself up off the ladder and headed for the sensors/weapons/life support/cargo status/everything else console with automatic gracefulness. Since the new reactor offered them power to waste, Sehlra had cranked up the grav plating from their usual 0.4 all the way up to Andorian standard, 0.91 Earth normal. Daniel found it oddly refreshing for a change to let his instinctive reflexes take the lead. It also meant that he wouldn't have to spend so many hours on the exercise equipment just to keep from dying of heart failure or breaking something major at their next planetary port of call. Now, if he could just persuade her to raise the temperature a bit. Instead of late spring in the Andorian temperate zone, maybe high noon in midsummer at the equator? Insulated underwear was all well and good, but...

"What's your reading, Lad?" Jenrali asked.

Daniel realized that while his conscious mind had been entertaining dreams of short sleeved t-shirts and cotton boxers, his eyes and hands were doing their jobs without direct supervision. "We have one clear hit, a small scout sized ship in geosynchronous orbit around the fifth planet. But I'm also picking up some anomalies in the asteroid belt that look suspicious to me."

"Everything looks suspicious to you, Lad," Jenrali said tolerantly. "You Humans evolved as ambush hunters, so naturally you see traps everywhere." Despite his words, the old man's hands worked the controls to drop them out of warp well short of the system. "Slowing to one half impulse," Jenrali told them. "Lass," he turned his head. "Getting anything that might help us?"

"He is there," her voice shook, and so did her hands. "He is there." T'Riss kept her eyes fixed on the screen in front of her, watching the nav display like she expected something to leap out of it. She seemed only vaguely aware of the others in the room.

"Well, that helps," Daniel remarked. "At least we know we have the right system. Now what, Boss?"

Jenrali stood up and came over to look at the sensor display. "Show me those anomalous readings."

Daniel pulled up the data. "See? Here, and here. These energy spikes don't quite match the background radiation. Almost, but not quite. And here, this looks _almost _like a reflection from an asteroid, but it doesn't quite match up with the profile of the rest of the belt."

"It could be a derelict," Jenrali muttered.

"Why would Grigor-Tel run his ass off all the way out here, then suddenly stop?" Daniel asked. "Why spend all this time and energy trying to get away, then all of a sudden he takes up an open position and just _sits there,_ waiting for us? I know you think I'm paranoid, Jenrali, but come on."

Jenrali's antenna writhed as he concentrated. He walked back to the pilot's seat and keyed the intercom. "Engineering, condition blue. Enemy in visual range. Possible additional hostiles concealed. Stand by for battle maneuvering."

The answer came back crisp and sharp. _"Affirm, Bridge. Condition orange. All systems optimum. Phase cannon ready. Torpedo tube is clear." _

"Should I go down and un-ship the torpedoes?" Daniel asked nervously. Jenrali considered for a moment, then nodded.

"Better do it, Lad. Hopefully we won't need them. But we had better have them, just in case."

Daniel jumped out of his seat and dove for the ladder, swinging himself around and down in a single motion. His boots echoed on the rungs all the way up and down the shaft and he hurried past the engine room on his way to the airlock.

#

T'Lar turned her head. "Acknowledged. Put him on the main screen." The vid cleared to reveal a cramped, dimly lit bridge that faintly reminded T'Lar of a Klingon ship. It had the same air of brutal efficiency, of function over form. The central chair was occupied by a Human that almost any Vulcan would recognize - his face had been broadcast over every news outlet on the planet for an extended period of time following the discovery of the Kir'shara.

"Commander T'Lar." The man raised his hand and offered the ta'al. "Peace and long life to you."

T'Lar inclined her head and returned the gesture. "Live long and prosper, Captain Archer. I am honored to greet one of the discoverers of the Kir'shara."

Archer's mouth twisted in a peculiar Human expression. T'Lar idly wondered what it signified. "I can hardly claim credit for following instructions, Commander. I went where Surak's katra directed me, and I did what he told me to do. My first officer, Commander T'Pol," the Human turned and gestured over his shoulder, "and Chief Minister T'Pau deserve more credit than I do." He added somberly, "As well as Syrann and the rest of his followers, particularly those who gave their lives in the search."

T'Lar opened her mouth but nothing came out. This was emphatically not what she had been expecting. Not from any Human, and most especially not from this Human. Not after what Raijiin had reported concerning Archer's activities in the Expanse. A re-evaluation was in order, but first things first.

"We have received instructions that you are to join us in pursuit of _Lerteiran, _she said cautiously.

"Yes," Archer confirmed. "We have been cleared by the Council of Five, and by Chief Minister T'Pau herself on her personal authority." T'Lar ironically considered that even in the reformed government, it harmed nothing to have friends in high places. "Our scans indicate that you are proceeding at warp 4.3. Is this correct?"

"Affirmative," T'Lar told him grudgingly. "The nebula constrains our navigational sensors, and the high level of debris makes greater speed inadvisable."

Archer nodded. "In which case, we anticipate that we will overtake you in," he paused to look off screen. "What is our revised ETA, Commander?"

Eight seconds later a slim Vulcan woman stepped down to stand beside the command chair. "I calculate that we will overtake the _Sehlat _in approximately 2 hours and 11 minutes, barring unanticipated difficulties."

Commander T'Lar," Archer said, "this is my first officer, Commander T'Pol. I suggest that she is the logical person to handle most of our routine contacts in order to avoid miscommunication or misunderstandings."

A wave of faint relief loosened T'Lar's neck muscles. "Indeed." She offered the salute. "I look forward to working with you, Commander."

"And I with you, Commander," T'Pol replied, returning the gesture. "If I can be of service, do not hesitate to contact me at any time."

"Until your arrival then," T'Lar said. "_Sehlat _out."

The commander allowed her breath to trail out of her nose in a long exhalation and slumped back against her command chair. "Assessment? Subcommander Verlen? Agent Senek?"

Verlen spoke first, as dictated by protocol. Of course. "They seem considerably calmer than Raijiin's story would lead one to believe. Of course, I am not familiar with Human emotional exhibitions. But I saw no overt signs of vengeful rage."

"Nor would you," Senek remarked with faint amusement. "They are not Klingons, after all. Humans are quite capable of controlling their emotional displays for extended periods if they perceive a benefit in doing so."

"Indeed." T'Lar considered. "What is your evaluation then?"

Senek answered carefully. "Captain Archer is the most experienced deep space commander that the Humans have. He has conducted more First Contact missions than any other member of their species, living or dead. He also grew up watching his father associate with Vulcans. In addition, he has been living and working in close proximity with a Vulcan second in command for the past four years. Finally, he is said to have carried the very essence of Surak himself for a time." He hesitated and rubbed his chin. Finally he looked directly at T'Lar.

"Evaluating this man is going to be quite challenging, Commander. He is as well acquainted with our people as any Human in the galaxy. He knows that we are watching him closely. Conversely, he is observing us with equal intensity." He stopped and held up both empty hands - signifying a loss for words.

T'Lar accepted this without reaction. "What about Commander T'Pol? Have we been able to obtain access to her High Command records?"

"Not as of yet, Commander," Verlen told her apologetically. "The records were sealed when she resigned her commission to join the Humans in the Expanse. The previous administration, for reasons of its own, chose to classify all information related to Commander T'Pol as Top Secret. We have sent the request and are still awaiting a response."

"I believe I may know at least some of the reasons for that classification," Senek sighed. T'Lar looked at him and raised an eyebrow.

"You are familiar with her past record?" T'Lar asked him.

"Partially and intermittently," Senek admitted. "Prior to joining the diplomatic service, T'Pol worked for the Security Directorate." He hesitated briefly, and looked pained. "I helped train her."

T'Lar straightened in her seat. "I see." She said softly. "Am I correct in deducing that this was the primary reason for her posting on _Enterprise?" _

"Not necessarily," Senek said. "Although I am certain that it was considered a fortunate coincidence, T'Pol left the Security Directorate several years prior to the launch of Captain Archer's ship." Noting her direct look, he added bluntly, "There was no dishonor involved. Her departure was voluntary. T'Pol came to the logical conclusion that her talents could more effectively be applied in the field of diplomacy. Ambassador Soval agreed, and offered her a position on his personal staff. That is all."

T'Lar lifted her chin. "Of course." No more would be said. By his choice of phrasing, Senek had just informed them all that whatever had happened was a matter of T'Pol's personal privacy. Any further inquiry would be an unforgivable breach of propriety.

"Did she recognize you?" T'Lar changed the subject.

"Of course," Senek assured her. "I will offer one further opinion. I consider it unlikely in the extreme that T'Pol would willingly serve with, much less resign her commission in order to accompany, a captain who made a habit of behaving in the manner described by Raijiin."

#

"I really appreciate the help," Hoshi told T'Pol sincerely. The two of them were crammed like a pair of sardines into a drinking straw sized access tube immediately below the bridge. Hoshi stood at the top of ladder replacing and realigning several of the frequency crystal modules for the main communications subsystem. T'Pol took position lower down, adjusting the voltage levels and double checking the overall system balance before reconnecting the power supply. It wouldn't do to blow out the entire intra-ship communications grid, as well as corridor lighting and Chef's main freezer unit. Chef was very territorial about his food storage units.

"I was the only logical candidate," T'Pol pointed out reasonably. "No one else available was small enough to fit into the required space."

"True," Hoshi stifled a giggle. "I can just see Trip trying to wedge himself in here. I wonder what he does when something needs fixed in one of these places? Send in Hess? Rostov would never fit either."

"The structural design engineers who worked on _Enterprise _were woefully inexperienced at real world operations," T'Pol agreed, replacing a cover plate and twisting with difficulty to peel off another one. "That much is painfully obvious."

"Trip told me he gave them an earful while he was..." Hoshi silently cursed herself, biting her lip. _"Way to go, big mouth," _she scolded herself. _"You just had to remind her, didn't you?" _

"While he was back at Earth preparing _Columbia _for launch," T'Pol finished for her, with no sign of emotion in her voice, her attention focused on the panel in front of her. "Yes, he told me that he submitted an extensive list of recommendations for design improvements. Hopefully Starfleet R#D will evaluate them with the consideration that they deserve."

"Since they came from Trip," Hoshi said, grateful that she seemed not to have shot herself in the foot, "they probably will. Admiral Gardner at least, seems pretty sure that Trip can fix a rainy day."

"Commander Tucker is indisputably the most qualified warp engineer in Starfleet," T'Pol said. Hoshi turned her face up so she wouldn't have to suppress the smile. There was pride in that Vulcan woman's voice. She might deny it under torture, but it was there anyway.

Hoshi casually tossed out, "He's a remarkable man in many ways."

A moment of silence followed. Then T'Pol asked her flatly, without looking at her. "Indeed he is. Are you interested in him sexually?"

Hoshi's eyes popped. "Good lord, no!" Her shoulders started shaking silently. "I'm sorry, T'Pol," she gasped while fighting to choke back laughter. "But even if I was, which I'm not, everyone on the ship..." She hesitated, and then decided what the heck. "Everyone on the ship knows Trip is taken. He hasn't so much as glanced at anyone but you since he returned from _Columbia_."

T'Pol paused in her work and raised a brow. "I knew that it was likely we were suspected, but I did not realize that it was general knowledge."

"Oh, T'Pol," Hoshi sighed. "None of us would ever say one word to anyone off the ship. This is family business."

T'Pol nodded silently at that, then bit her lip, obviously conflicted over whether she should ask the question that followed. "Did..." she hesitated, and then sighed. "Did Trip tell you?"

"No," Hoshi shook her head. "As far as I know, Trip hasn't told anyone." Then she paused. "Well," she reflected, "He might have told Malcolm. But certainly he wouldn't have told anyone else, and I know Malcolm would never betray a secret. That's not it," Hoshi assured her. "But it's so obvious. We're Human, T'Pol. Maybe Vulcans don't watch for emotional cues, but we do. And we can certainly read each other. Even if you managed to hide it, which you didn't, there is no way Trip could. He broadcasts his feelings every time he looks at you."

"Is this... typical?" T'Pol asked.

"Of Trip? Or of Human men in general?"

T'Pol stopped working again. "I have been spending a considerable amount of time reflecting on our relationship. The Vulcan database does not list any prior Human-Vulcan matings. Dr. Phlox has told me that he personally is aware of several inter-species matings involving Vulcans, and that he has heard reports of at least two that involved Humans. But he cannot provide specifics."

"Oh, I see." Hoshi nodded. 'You're wondering what to expect."

"Precisely," T'Pol replied. She sounded relieved to be understood. "I have observed that Humans often mate transiently. Even your formal marriages often seem to be merely arrangements of convenience... disposable, and of minor importance."

"Uh... no." Hoshi paused in her own work and looked down. "Hold on there. If you're worried that Trip will get tired of you and wander off, I think you're worried over nothing. Trip Tucker is not that kind of man."

"How can I know?" T'Pol's voice held a note that Hoshi had never heard from her before. The younger woman felt an answering twinge and a flash of realization.

"_Poor thing. We've all been focusing on how alien she is to us. But we're just as alien to her. And so is Trip. She's alone on a ship full of aliens, and she's in love with an alien man, and she has no idea what's going to happen to her. She's SCARED." _

Hoshi concentrated on keeping her voice as gentle as possible. "The natural state for an adult Human is to live with a mate. That much is instinctive for us. Exactly _how _we go about doing that is a matter of cultural conditioning."

"And your culture encourages transient mating," T'Pol said.

"Not necessarily," Hoshi said. "Human culture is not monolithic. Not even now. The dominant pseudo-culture, the one that most Vulcans come into contact with, is a polyglot mishmash of all the Human cultures that were left on Earth at the time of First Contact. Trying to put the pieces back together after the war forced us to make do with what we had." She had T'Pol's full attention now. The Vulcan was looking up at her with a rapt expression, no longer making any pretense of working, focused on the mystery of the Human race as it applied to her personal circumstances.

"Learning that there were other people out here drove us to hurry up and cobble together some kind of arrangement so that we could present a united racial front," Hoshi continued. "But the original, older, cultures are still there in the background. It's only been a hundred years you know. Even by Human standards, that's not a real long time."

"I don't completely understand what you're trying to say," T'Pol admitted in a puzzled tone.

"What I'm getting at," Hoshi went on, "is that eventually, in another century or two, this stew pot will simmer itself down into something uniform, and we really will start to develop a generic Human culture. But for now, every Human needs to be evaluated on the basis of their own particular subculture, as well as the planetary pseudo-culture. For example, I come from Japan. A large part of my world view has been shaped by that, including my attitudes about marriage. Trip comes from Southeastern North America. His religious roots are Christian, particularly the Southern Baptist variety, a group which greatly values marital fidelity and family solidarity. That fact defines a lot about who he is. Each geographic area on Earth has its own history, and this affects the local culture _a lot._"

They both started working again in silence for a while. Finally T'Pol said, "Thank you Lieutenant. I believe that this information will prove beneficial."

Hoshi smiled. She replied in Vulcan, "I am here to serve, Commander. If I can ever be of assistance, do not hesitate to call upon me."

Another fifteen minutes or so was enough to complete the modifications. As Hoshi was closing the access panel T'Pol remarked, "I will be interested in learning whether these upgrades do in fact allow us to eavesdrop on the Andorian internal communications."

"You and me both," Hoshi agreed, mentally crossing her fingers. So far, T'Pol had shown no indication of suspecting the real reason for the modifications. Keeping her busy with girl talk had turned out to be a good idea after all, even if the subject matter turned out to be a bit heavier than Hoshi had planned.

Now she had to let Malcolm know that everything was ready. They still had to figure out a way to target the engine room aboard _Lerteiran_. It wouldn't do to just broadcast their offer over the general comm throughout the whole ship. The last thing they wanted was to warn Raijiin and that T'Riss woman up front. The engineer seemed their best bet based on the information Malcolm had obtained.

As they headed back to the turbolift, Hoshi idly wondered how Malcolm had managed to get hold of the Andorian woman's military record.

#

Daniel double checked his suit for the third time while the airlock cycled. Everything on the checklist was green. Orange, rather. He tsk'ed at himself. When would he get used to using Andorian conventions? The indicator light changed to show that pressure was nil. He keyed in his personal code and twisted the manual latch. The outer door slid open. The fifth planet in the Nausican system hung far "below" him. He lifted his head and squinted. Grigor-Tel's ship was only a few hundred thousand kilometers away, in orbit around the planet. He should be able to find it if he upped the resolution on his faceplate. He raised one hand to do so...

There it was, just where the sensors said it would be. Somehow, seeing the tiny silhouette with his own eyes made it less threatening. It was too bad that the small ship wasn't the only one they had to worry about. Daniel maneuvered himself out the doorway and around on the hand holds with the ease of someone who had been working in free fall off and on since birth. The safety tether floated behind him at the edge of the airlock like an umbilical cord floating in amniotic fluid. Turning casually so that he was facing head down, like an insect crawling down a wall, Daniel made his way around the underbelly of _Lerteiran _and headed for the torpedo racks. This shouldn't take long. It had better not. His back hair was bristling like a hedgehog. They were flying straight into a trap, he could smell it.

#

"_Torpedo one loaded and ready,"_ Daniel's voice was flat and metallic over the external comm. _"Torpedo two is inserted into the launcher and armed." _

"Good enough, Lad," Jenrali told him. "Get back in here. It's time to finish this." Daniel gave an uncouth grunt for acknowledgment and clicked off. The old man shook his head. That boy would surely benefit from five years discipline in the Guard. If they didn't kill him before he got out. He chuckled.

He saw T'Riss giving him a strange look. "Something wrong, Lass?"

"I was not aware that a ship of this class carried torpedoes," she said uncertainly.

Jenrali grinned. "Ordinarily, we wouldn't. But it helps to have friends in the right places."

"Military contraband is subject to immediate seizure," she said primly. "I presume it was not Vulcan contraband, or our technicians would have removed them. But sooner or later you will surely be apprehended."

Jenrali snorted. "Typical Vulcan reasoning. Make an unwarranted assumption, then proceed as if your assumption were proven fact. Those torpedoes aren't contraband. We bought them legally."

"That statement is inherently illogical," T'Riss said, looking irritated. "I am inexperienced, but not totally ignorant. Andorian law does not permit sale of military hardware to civilian craft."

"True enough, child," Jenrali lectured her. "You are inexperienced. You also lack imagination. You have a brain. Use it. Think. If we bought them legally, and they are not Vulcan, and they are not Andorian, where did we get them?" He grinned and turned back to his console. From the corner of his eye he could see T'Riss wrinkle her forehead.

After a short interval she said, "Humans?" Her voice held disbelief. "They would not be so foolish as to sell military hardware to..."

"To Andorians? Why not? We're not _their _enemies." She looked horrified. "Relax. They didn't sell them to us. They sold them to Daniel. Obsolete models."

Jenrali mused that he had never seen a Vulcan look stunned before. "It's simple enough. When the Humans developed antimatter warheads, they were left with a surplus stockpile of conventional torpedoes. Instead of destroying them, they decided to give them away to their merchant fleet for self-defense against pirates," Jenrali said approvingly. "Makes perfect sense to me. Starfleet set up distribution points at Earth and at each of their colonies. Any Boomer ship that qualified was free to collect as many torpedoes as they could put to practical use. Naturally, we didn't qualify," he added, "but Daniel has a lot of friends and acquaintances among the Boomers. He got in touch with his old ship, and they put us in contact with some people who were willing to part with a couple for the right price."

"And what will happen if Starfleet discovers this?" T'Riss wondered.

"Nothing," Jenrali said. "Those torpedoes were private property. Besides, what does Starfleet care? We're never going to use them against a Human ship. Anyway, Daniel is a Boomer. They were distributed in the first place for Boomers to use. No problem."

The sound of thumping boots echoing up the ladder behind him interrupted their talk. Daniel emerged from the hatch looking sweaty and excited. He was breathing hard.

"Sit down, Lad," Jenrali ordered. "Put that Human adrenaline to use and tell me what's happening now."

"Still sitting there," Daniel reported. "He's a decoy. He has to be. He might as well be waving a flag and yelling 'Yoo hoo, over here. Come and get me'. What kind of fools do they think we are?"

Jenrali shook his head. "Not everyone is as suspicious as Humans. Are you confident that Grigor-Tel knows that you're here, T'Riss?" He turned to the Vulcan. Jenrali was starting to worry about the girl's stability. She seemed ready to claw through the bulkhead to get to their quarry.

T'Riss nodded jerkily. "He must. I am certain of it. As we grew closer I felt him become more nervous. When we arrived I felt his fear. Since we arrived he has been growing increasingly tense. Daniel is correct. He is waiting for something to happen."

"Well then," Jenrali settled back in satisfaction. "Let's join him in waiting. I have sat beside a drill hole all day and all night, waiting for my one chance at a spear strike on a _vrilin. _I can certainly out wait a greenskin."

Sehlra's disgruntled voice came through the comm. _"You mean we rushed through all of that, only to end up sitting here while fatso takes a nap?" _She did not sound anywhere near pleased.

"Better than strolling right into the jaws of the waiting beast," Daniel muttered.

"_Boy, you're still jumpy from what happened,_ responded Sehlra. _"It's perfectly understandable, but-" _

"I am _NOT _still jumpy!" Daniel smacked his thigh in exasperation. His outburst drew a reproving look from Jenrali, and he settled back down immediately. "I'm sorry, Sehlra. I apologize. That was uncalled for, and I ask pardon. But I really do wish that you would start taking my hunches seriously. Wasn't I correct about something being wrong on the station?"

"A fair point, Sehlra," Jenrali felt impelled to offer, strictly in the interest of fairness. "As soon as he saw that Vulcan agent, the lad started warning us that something was wrong. You have to admit that."

"_That was most likely indigestion. There was no way that you could have known." _

"Just because we don't understand it, doesn't mean it's not there, Sehlra," Jenrali reminded her. "You've seen Daniel be right about things like this before, same as I have. Not always of course, but more often than chance would allow for. I don't know how he does it, but I don't know how a juggler keeps from dropping everything either. As long as it works, I don't care."

T'Riss looked oddly at Daniel. "Have you been tested for latent telepathic abilities, Mr. Johansen?"

Daniel snorted. "No. Why should I? Humans aren't telepathic."

"Not generally, no," she said. "But my training included the information that a small minority of Humans possess rudimentary telepathic potential. Perhaps you are a member of that minority. Without training, you might be using that ability in a crude manner, without actually understanding what you are doing."

Jenrali's eyes narrowed. "Not likely," Daniel snapped, making a slicing motion with his hand as if to cut off the discussion. He turned back to the console abruptly and announced, "That anomalous reflection is back. It's shifted position, too. It's 5 light minutes closer to Grigor-Tel."

"Interesting," Jenrali murmured in satisfaction. "Sehlra isn't the only one getting impatient."

#

"What are those cud chewing Vulcans waiting for!" Kraktilini roared in frustration. He pounded his fists on the console. "Grigor-Tel is sitting right there! In plain view! Can it be that they have not detected him yet?"

Corolo shot him a glance out of the corner of his eye, avoiding the appearance of a direct stare. "They have certainly detected him, Fight Leader. Their scans passed directly across him. Then their scan beams swept back over him again and again. They know he is there."

Kraktilini glowered at the screen. "I hate Vulcans. I have always hated Vulcans."

Privately, Corolo mused that Kraktilini hated everyone. But he forebore to say anything that might make his commander's mood worse. Instead he offered, "I have something that might make the waiting a little more pleasant, Fight Leader. A new snack animal that was recently picked up by one of our raiders."

Kraktilini snorted in disgust. Then he sat back and growled, "I might as well. We are all likely to starve to death waiting for those cowardly leaf munchers to make up their minds to _do something."_

Corolo walked over to the sealed storage bin and popped the cover. He scooped out what looked somewhat like the hairball a _morn _might spit up. There were no visible legs, eyes, or any other features on the creature. But the animal was obviously alive, since it was making a purring warble sound and trying to caress Corolo's hand as he carried it over.

Kraktilini eyed at it dubiously. "It looks like a hairy turd."

"True," Corolo admitted, "but they taste good. No bones either, so you can scarf them down in two bites. Try one, Fight Leader. Everyone likes them."

Kraktilini's nostrils flared and he drew in the animals scent. The tiny beast, somehow sensing the danger, began to shiver and its purr became a shrill whine. A faint whiff of fear entered its scent, which was enough to overcome Kraktilini's hesitation. He grabbed the fur ball and bit it in half. The creature gave a final tiny scream and fell silent.

"It _is _good," he told his second in command. "What are they called?"

Corolo said, "The Rigellian called them tribbles. He offered to provide information on the location of their home world in return for his life." Both Nausicans grinned knowingly. "They breed like crazy. We have to keep them in a sealed vault or they would overrun the ship. But they sure are cheap to feed."

#

"Commander," Verlen looked up from his readout. "We have sensor contact with _Lerteiran _. They have assumed a stationary position at the edge of a system 7.62 light years ahead."

"Notify _Enterprise," _she ordered the Communications officer. "Summon Agent Senek to the bridge." Turning back to Verlen, T'Lar asked, "Subcommander, can you obtain any details via long range scan?"

"Indeterminate, Commander," Verlen told her, with his eyes glued to the readouts. "However, it does appear possible that another ship may be present. At least one more ship at minimum."

"Green alert," T'Lar ordered. A soft chime sounded, accompanied by a discreet flashing light on every console and adjacent to every doorway. All over the ship, crew members halted all non-critical activities immediately and proceeded to their battle stations with maximum efficiency.

The Communications officer reported, "Incoming hail from _Enterprise, _Commander."

"On screen," T'Lar replied. Instantly, the face of Commander T'Pol formed on the main viewer.

"Commander T'Lar," T'Pol said briskly. "I am instructed to request access to your sensor data, as your sensors are more sophisticated than ours."

"Agreed." T'Lar turned her head. "Subcommander?"

Verlen said, "Transferring now." T'Pol acknowledged and confirmed the connection. Verlen spoke again. "You will note, Commander T'Pol, the presence of readings that might indicated the presence of another ship. However there are no matches with anything in our database." He asked, not hopefully, "Have you encountered similar readings before?"

T'Pol's eyes narrowed. She turned around and said something rapidly to someone behind her. Then she faced them again. Faintly, at the limits of the microphone's sensitivity, T'Lar heard someone calling for a 'tactical alert'. "Yes, I have seen similar readings before. I believe they are Klingon."

"Perfection," Senek offered dryly, stepping out of the lift just in time to catch the end of the conversation. "The situation has reached the pinnacle of complication."

T'Pol hoisted a brow. "I perceive that you have retained your tendency for exaggeration, Agent Senek. There are potentially a large number of additional factors that could increase the complexity of this situation."

"Only in degree, not in kind," Senek gently chided her. "The interference of a third party in this situation was the one problem that we had not been forced to deal with. Yet. Are you quite certain that the readings are those of a Klingon craft?"

"Probability is 79.4% plus," T'Pol said calmly. Senek grimaced.

"From you, that means certainty." He glanced at T'Lar before continuing. "Is _Enterprise _currently prepared for battle with Klingons?"

"Certainly," T'Pol answered primly. "Is _Sehlat?_"

"Of course," T'Lar answered, obviously disgruntled. "Please put your captain on. He and I need to confer on tactics." T'Pol worked a control and her face disappeared, to be replaced by Archer.

"Well, Commander," The man said, lounging in his chair with typical Human looseness. "It appears that our truant youngsters have leaped from the frying pan straight into the fire." T'Lar suppressed a wince at the casual brutality of the metaphor. "How do you want to handle this?"

"_Enterprise _should hold position here until _Sehlat_ has stabilized the situation," T'Lar instructed.

Archer propped his chin on one hand. "If what you mean is that _Sehlat_ should move swiftly to retrieve the occupants of the _Lertieran_ before we have a chance to discuss the matter with them I must respectfully disagree."

T'Lar hung onto her temper. "That was not my meaning." Although it had been one of her intentions. "Even a small Klingon ship routinely carries heavy armaments. _Sehlat_ is much better prepared to deal with any attack. It is only logical that we should enter the area first."

Archer looked unimpressed. "We've defeated Klingon opponents before, more than once," he told her, provoking a small twitch of surprise from both T'Lar and Verlen. "But if your conscience demands it, I will agree to have _Sehlat_ take point position."

T'Lar said tightly, "If you insist. Maintain sufficient distance to allow for evasive maneuvering. Operating under the assumption that the Klingon ship contains Grigor-Tel, or is hostile for other reasons, I propose that we engage it while _Enterprise _moves to protect _Lerteiran." _

"Agreed," Archer replied. "We're ready whenever you are, Commander."

"Then let us proceed," T'Lar stated. "Helm, ahead warp four. Subcommander Verlen, confirm status of all weapon and defensive systems."

"Right behind you, Commander," Captain Archer bared his teeth. T'Lar noticed in passing that Humans were indeed equipped with fangs. Short ones, to be sure, but distinctive and indisputable.

#

Sehlra paced and grumbled. "Superstitious foolishness." She stopped to press a series of buttons, watching the readouts change intently. Satisfied for the moment, she resumed her patrol around the engine room. "Telepathy. Bah. About as useful as a pissicle against a migration of ice worms." She sighed. Then she tightened her lips stubbornly and shook her head. "Even if the boy is a latent telepath, it's not his fault. It's not like he deliberately tried to be one. It's not right to blame him. Besides, it's probably nothing but another Vulcan lie." She snorted and went back to the main panel, scanning for anything at all that might be out of place.

The comm light blinked. Sehlra grunted and punched the button with her thumb impatiently. "What now?" she snapped.

A flat machine voice recited, in perfect Andorian, _"This is a message for the attention of Lieutenant Sehlra Rivlanhe Pelsef U'len, I.D. T34D92. Please confirm." _

Sehlra froze in place, with her hand poised above the comm switch. She had not heard that I.D. Code since she left the Guard, more years ago than she wanted to count. "Confirmed," she said, in a voice that was not as steady she would have wished.

"_Lieutenant U'len, the people of Earth request the aid of Andoria in the capture of the fugitive criminal, Raijiin. The Andorian High Command has provided your I.D. information in order to confirm their approval of your assistance to us in this matter. Raijiin stands indicted on Earth of the following crimes – espionage in time of war, attempted assassination of Starfleet personnel, conspiracy to commit assassination, telepathic attack on Starfleet personnel, willful destruction of Starfleet property, and conspiracy to collect information for the purpose of constructing a bioweapon to be used toward the extermination of the Human species. We request your assistance in transporting Raijiin to Enterprise so that she can be extradited to Earth for trial. Please reply yes if you agree to assist us, no if you do not agree to assist us." _.

"Yes!" Sehlra grinned broadly. She started chuckling. That would teach the slut to attack her boy. Did the Great Mother not promise that justice would fall upon those who dared to touch the ones beloved of her followers? More proof of her holy truth.

Sehlra was really going to enjoy the look on that pampered face when the transporter whine started up.

#

Jenrali concentrated on the feel of his chair. The back was well worn from many years of use, and it cradled his spine like the warm arms of a lover. The arm rests supported his elbows in cushioned comfort while he propped his chin on his interlaced fingers. Without opening his eyes, Captain Jenrali spoke.

"Status, Daniel?"

Daniel obediently started reading off, "Grigor-Tel is maintaining orbit as before, no change. That echo ghost is drifting closer. Now 4.1 light minutes away from Grigor-Tel's position. The anomalous energy readings are still there. I have run every check I can... uh-oh."

Jenrali winced. "Lad. I am getting very, very tired of hearing you make that noise. What is it this time?"

"New energy readings. Scanning to localize the source now." Jenrali turned around to watch Daniel as he ran through the scanning protocols. He noticed T'Riss was barely keeping track of what happened around her. Being this close to the Orion seemed to have stunned her, or something. She was sitting with her fists clenched and her head down, breathing hard.

"Oh, holy crap," Daniel muttered. "Two ships, dead astern, closing at warp four. Big ones, both of them. Scanning for identification codes now."

Jenrali stood up quickly and strode over to Daniel's station. "The Vulcans?"

"Dunno yet," Daniel said, "But most lik-" He stopped and made an adjustment. "Confirm. One of them is the _Sehlat. _But the other one... Ah." He sat back and looked up at Jenrali with a rueful grimace. "_Enterprise._ They finally got here."

"Sehlra!" Jenrali bellowed down the access ladder, not bothering with the comm. "Condition Blue! Battle stations! We are going in _Right Now!_"

T'Riss looked up with haunted eyes. "That is not logical. _Sehlat,_ or even _Enterprise_ would be better equipped to deal with Grigor-Tel. Especially if there is a trap in place."

Jenrali growled. "Maybe so, but I didn't come all this way to lose out on those fifty bars of latinum. Daniel, polarize the hull and ready weapons. Is that overcharge circuit on the phase cannon operating properly?"

"Everything orange, Captain," Daniel replied sharply. "Re-routing power directly from the impulse drive. The secondary reinforcement circuits are holding. So far."

"Good." Jenrali held in his misgivings. Daniel swore that his old shipmates were honorable people, and they in turn swore that they had used the same configuration in battle against Nausicans and blown the raiders out of space.

It worked when they tested it. Sehlra had actually squealed with delight when she saw the difference it made in the power output of the homemade phase cannon. The destruction was half again what _Lerteiran's_ original disruptor could put out. But the only real way to test any weapon was against a live enemy. And if nothing else, they knew that the torpedoes were battle worthy.

The comm crackled suddenly. _"Lerteiran. This is Commander T'Lar aboard the Sehlat. Stand down and prepare to dock."_

Jenrali hit the comm switch. "Ready, Engineering?"

"_Ready, Bridge."_

"Setting course for Grigor-Tel's ship," Jenrali announced. "All hands brace for battle maneuvering. Our objective is rapid destruction. Weapons control, fire at will." He hit the controls and _Lerteiran_ leaped forward, slamming everyone back in their seats.

Jenrali sent his ship veering through one of the standard Andorian attack patterns that had been drilled into him so thoroughly many years ago. Meanwhile, behind him he heard a young Human voice gasping, "I don't know but what I preferred the old engines. At least then I could breathe." Jenrali let a smile break over his face. With the acceleration overcoming the inertial dampers, it was easy enough. A surge of exhilaration burned through him. She hadn't responded to the helm like this since he bought her.

T'Riss snapped upright. "It IS a trap!" she shouted. "He was waiting for this!"

"Good," Jenrali approved. "Then he won't be expecting the two battle cruisers that are right on our tail, will he?" He called over his shoulder, "Daniel, could that greenskin have detected them yet?"

Daniel croaked feebly, hanging onto his console with both hands, "I don't think so. I barely picked them up, and we were outside of the heliopause. He was inside the system, with all that solar and background radiation to flood sensors, so I doubt it."

"Then he is about to get a surprise," Jenrali said in satisfaction.

"So are we," Daniel said unhappily. "You know that echo? It just started moving toward us at full impulse. And it sprouted three siblings."

#

"Captain," T'Pol announced. "_ Lerteiran_ has just powered weapons and entered the system."

Archer rubbed his temples. Smiling politely at the Vulcan captain for so long had given him a headache. "Now why does that not astonish me?" he wearily asked the universe at large. "Travis, take us to warp five. Malcolm, remember this is the Syndicate, so get ready for anything."

"Captain," Hoshi said, "Incoming from Commander T'Lar."

"I thought we agreed that _Sehlat _would take point, Captain Archer," T'Lar said icily.

"Then take it, by all means Commander," Archer snapped back. "In case you overlooked it somehow, that trader is about to engage a Klingon ship in open combat. Not a fair fight in my opinion. I would like to get there while some pieces still remain to scoop up."

T'Lar opened her mouth briefly, then closed it firmly and cut the transmission. Archer sighed and told Mayweather, "Travis, when we get there try to stay between _Lerteiran _and anyone that happens to be shooting at them... if possible, of course. If there's more than one, then..." He shrugged. "Do the best you can." Archer turned to his Armory officer. "Malcolm, disable if you can. But our primary responsibility is to protect Daniel Johansen, who is a citizen of Earth. Our secondary responsibility is to apprehend Raijiin. Those two objectives come first. Do whatever needs to be done to accomplish them."

"Understood, sir," Lieutenant Reed answered. He turned back to his controls with a gleam in his eye.

#

"_Nau-si-cans." _Daniel hacked out the word in a spitting snarl. "One _Gurut_ class raider and three small fighters, all closing on us at full impulse."

"Hold your fire, Lad," Jenrali told him calmly. "Wait until you can smell them."

"I can smell them from here," Daniel muttered. But he kept his fingers off the firing buttons. "Grigor-Tel is diving into atmosphere."

"Idiot," Jenrali's antennae straightened. "We will pace him from the high ground up here. If he stays down, we will crush him from above. If he comes back up, we will be waiting. Either way, he is our meat."

T'Riss had her fingers digging into the armrests of her seat hard enough to rip holes in the fabric covers. She leaned forward, pressing her face into the navigational display, silently trembling.

"_Sehlat_ is closing fast, warp five and accelerating," Daniel reported. _"Enterprise_ is right behind her."

"Good, they can have the Nausicans when they get here," Jenrali said, banking _Lerteiran _into a steep curve that became a looping dive. He swung the ship around and finished the maneuver with the bow pointed directly at Grigor-Tel's ship. Daniel jumped on the phase cannon and sent a spear of sunblasting energy ripping its way through the dim clouds of the Venus-like planet below. Grigor-Tel made a last second attempt to dodge, with only partial success.

"Scraped him, but no serious damage," Daniel reported in disgust. Jenrali brought the nose up and spun into a barrel roll, evading the incoming Nausican raider and pulling away from the dragging wisps of the upper atmosphere. Daniel routed the sensor feed to the main viewscreen for a real time overview of the battle zone.

"Forget the Orion for now, Lad," Jenrali ordered. "We have bigger prey to hunt."

Daniel's eyes narrowed and his hands danced over the fire control targeting system, seeking the Nausican ship's profile. He saw something and his hand flashed to stab a control. "Incoming missile! Dropping flak decoys."

Jenrali acknowledged and made a quick twist directly toward the Nausican, spiraling around in a barrel roll and coming up beneath the enemy ship. Both the Nausican missile and Daniel's answering shot missed widely.

"Here comes one of the fighters," Daniel warned, "bearing 014X by 239Y by 66Z."

"Just keep shooting anything that gets in range, Lad," Jenrali advised. "I'll keep trying to find you some targets."

"Works for me," Daniel said with a grim smile. "I'll never turn down a chance to shoot at a Nausican." Jenrali risked a swift look over his shoulder. Daniel was holding it together well enough, he decided. Angry, but not about to lose control. The lad had grown up a lot in just the last couple of years, the old man realized with a flash of paternal pride.

T'Riss raised her head and look uncertainly across the bridge at Daniel. She glanced questioningly at Jenrali, than back at Daniel. The Andorian ignored her. Daniel's personal history was none of her business, unless he felt like telling her himself. Besides, they were both busy.

The deck slammed upward, jarring everyone's backside up into their spine. For a few seconds the helm lost power, but before Jenrali could yell for Sehlra she had it back on. He instantly changed course and hit the thrusters for flank speed ahead. A second missile just barely missed, detonating within meters of the hull and sending a second, weaker, shockwave through the ship.

"All right, you son of a dog," Daniel said with quiet murder in his voice, "that tears it." He shifted his attention to the torpedo targeting system and started scanning for the raider's engine output. "Get me as close as you can, Captain. I have a present to deliver."

"By all means, Lad," Jenrali grinned and spun _Lerteiran _in a curve that caused groaning complaints from structural supports all over the ship. A blue light started to flash on his console and a machine coded voice recited _Warning! Hull stress fracture imminent! _

"May I point out," T'Riss said, "that it will provide no benefit for us to destroy ourselves before the Nausicans have the chance to do so."

"Shut up and sit back, girl," Jenrali snapped. "I know what my ship can handle, and I was flying before you were a gleam in your grandmother's eye. Now be quiet." He keyed in a rapid series of commands and hit the manual override. Deceleration threw everyone forward against their safety harness, then sideways as _Lerteiran _twisted her way through a skew flip maneuver – finishing up by flying backwards with her bow pointed straight down the Nausican raider's throat.

Daniel jumped on the firing button. A pulsating vibration signaled the launch of the first torpedo, which displayed as a blinking dot on the viewscreen moving from _Lerteiran _toward the Nausican. "Kiss my hairy Human ass!" Daniel snarled with savage satisfaction as the two lights merged into one. "Direct hit!"

"Now for that fighter," Jenrali said.

"Hold off a second," Daniel told him. "I think we have company." He manipulated the sensor feed once more and the viewscreen rippled. The overview disappeared, to be replaced by a visual composite of the star field – a computer reproduction of what they would see if they looked out the window. If _Lerteiran_ had a window on the bridge, which it didn't—and if they could see the other ships across 3,000,000 kilometers, which they couldn't.

The raider was venting atmosphere and bodies from a serious wound in its flank. Jenrali heard a quiet, _"Yes!"_ of satisfaction behind him. Its fighter/bodyguard had its own problem to deal with. Another ship had arrived. Size was impossible to judge accurately, but compared to the Nausicans the new arrival looked huge. The main saucer section was easily twice as wide as the entire raider ship, and three times as big as the fighter.

The raider turned and headed for the Human cruiser while the fighter spun and came at _Lerteiran _. Jenrali stared in disbelief. "They can't be serious."

"They are," Daniel said grimly. "Nausicans are dumb as a bucket of rocks."

Ignoring the damaged raider for the moment, _Enterprise _moved toward _Lerteiran _with impressive speed. A quick spear of light flashed from beneath the forward edge of the saucer and the Nausican fighter literally fell apart, burned in half.

"Waah-hoo!" Daniel shook a triumphant fist in the air. "Now that's how it's done."

T'Riss was staring, aghast, at Daniel. Jenrali told her. "Humans and Nausicans don't like each other. Never have. Not since First Contact. And Boomers care for Nausicans even less." He got busy on the controls. The viewscreen shifted to one side as they got underway. "While _Enterprise _keeps the big one occupied, we will get back to business. Where did Grigor-Tel wander off to, Daniel?"

Daniel worked his board industriously. "No sign of him. He has to be on the opposite side of the planet."

"Then around the planet we go," Jenrali said. "Brace for close orbit at full impulse."

"Uh... Boss?" Daniel started, "Is that really-" The rest of his words were choked off in his throat when _Lerteiran _screamed around the gravity well. The two conflicting force vectors, impulse acceleration and the planetary mass distortion field, caused everyone's stomach to spiral inward and then fold itself several times. The inertial dampers didn't stand the chance of a snowflake in a warp reactor.

They came up out of the stratosphere to see Grigor-Tel diving for the shelter of two waiting fighters. _Sehlat _was pushing hard to intercept. "Get ready on that phase cannon, Lad," Jenrali warned. He took dead aim for the Klingon scout ship and suddenly snapped on the warp field.

Jenrali's eyes swam and his chest deflated. The star field on the viewscreen disappeared in a haze of chaotic colors. He yanked back as quickly as possible on the control switch, dropping _Lerteiran _back out of warp. His antennae were throbbing with pain, and the sound of Sehlra screaming curses echoed up the access ladder. _"I will pay dearly for that one," _he realized ruefully.

"Next time you do that, Boss," Daniel hissed faintly, "please shoot me first, okay?"

"Stop complaining and shoot the Orion instead," Jenrali told him. He was surprised at how weak his own voice sounded. When he reached for the port thruster control he saw, to his amazement, that his hand was shaking slightly. That had never happened before. Was he sick?

No time to waste on that now. He keyed in the course corrections and stabbed the impulse drive actuator. With a humming growl that grew into a hungry roar, _Lerteiran _leaped after her prey.

Daniel moaned but reached painfully for the fire controls. His hands were shaking too, Jenrali saw, which made him feel a bit better. In any case, Grigor-Tel's ship was growing bigger in the viewscreen with each breath. Suddenly the targeting array appeared on screen, superimposed over the greenskin's ship.

"Range 5,000 kilometers and closing," Daniel read off. "4,000. 3,000. 2,000 kilometers. Grigor-Tel is moving to evade."

"I see it, Lad," Jenrali said. "I'm on him." The viewscreen showed a brief flare of exhaust as the Orion's ship turned her impulse engines toward _Lerteiran, _then corkscrewed away and headed off toward the outer system.

"What about the Vulcans?" Jenrali managed to snap out while his fingers danced over the controls, matching Grigor-Tel's course and velocity by conditioned reflex.

Daniel spared a quick look at the sensor readouts. "_ Sehlat _has engaged both fighters. Looks like they're jumping around her, trying not to get fried. And... here comes _Enterprise," _he said. "Guess that raider is toast."

"We're running out of time, Lad," Jenrali said urgently. "Those fighters won't last long against the two of them. Let's finish this _now." _He concentrated on keeping Grigor-Tel's ship as close as possible to the center of the targeting array on the viewscreen. "Fire as soon as you can get any kind of a lock. Even if you can graze him and slow him down, it will help."

"Aye, Captain," Suddenly Daniel's voice changed and Jenrali relaxed. When the edge met the ice, the boy always came through. Human or not, those Boomers raised their children properly. Daniel leaned forward intently. The targeting overlay shifted slightly back and forth, changing color from blue, to yellow, back to blue, then red, and finally to blinking pale orange. It held on blinking orange for a count of three and suddenly steadied and darkened. Daniel fired.

Ship lights and the sound of air circulation faded for a few seconds. Through the deck plates Jenrali could feel, and more to the point his antennae could clearly _tlasp, _the piercing whine of the phase cannon as it milked power straight from its mother reactor. On the screen, a replicated version of the beam (which would have blinded all of them if it had actually been shown) leapt away from the ship and impaled Grigor-Tel's nacelle mount. A flash temporarily overloaded the sensors. When the screen cleared again it was plain that the Orion would not be going anywhere at warp—not in his current ship. The ring shaped Vulcan nacelle, obviously a cobbled on modification to the original Klingon design, was offset and twisted, with one side of it smashed against the hull and a clear break visible. Plasma was pouring out of the break in waves.

Jenrali closed in for the kill. As Grigor-Tel's craft continued to grow on the screen, Daniel shifted the targeting overlay again - aiming this time for the cockpit. Suddenly thrusters fired and the scout ship spun on its axis, turning to face _Lerteiran. _

"Not good, Daniel," Jenrali warned. T'Riss jerked upright and gasped. She tried to form words, but the stress of finding the Orion along with the shock of the battle had almost driven her into unconsciousness. The only sound she could force out was an inarticulate cry of warning while she pointed at the screen. Jenrali told her, "Don't worry, Lass. We see it."

Twin weapon ports started glowing at the front of the Klingon craft. Daniel exhaled one long breath and moved the targeting array over a final time. The light once more became a blinking pale orange.

"No time for a better lock," Jenrali ordered. "Do it." Daniel hit the firing button, and twin flashes exploded at the front of Grigor-Tel's ship simultaneously.

#

T'Lar sat composed and crisply requested, "Open a channel once more." She waited for the nod and spoke, "Nausican craft. You are clearly outmatched. There is no logic in continuing this struggle. If you agree to break off your attack and depart this system, you will not be harmed." She waited.

An almost undetectable vibration sent ripples across the surface of her cup of tea, which sat in the arm of her command chair. Subcommander Verlen offered dryly, "It appears that they do not concur with your logic, Commander."

"Incoming message from _Enterprise, _Commander," the Communications officer reported.

"Onscreen," T'Lar acknowledged. Archer appeared to be fully at ease. She could detect no superficial evidence of damage on the bridge around him. "Captain," T'Lar greeted him. "I trust that you and your crew are safe?"

"Everything is fine here," he replied, looking satisfied. "Both of the Nausicans we engaged refused to surrender and we were forced to destroy them. But that, unfortunately, is typical of Nausicans. Do you require assistance?"

T'Lar winced. "No," she assured him hurriedly. "We have the situation well in hand. I still have hope of persuading the remaining fighters to abandon the battle, since they so obviously have no chance of winning."

"That won't stop them," Archer told her. "Either offer them a way out without looking like cowards, or they'll die fighting even if they know they're going to lose."

"Do you have any suggestions?" T'Lar inquired grimly.

"I'm afraid not," Archer told her with irritating cheerfulness. "However, since you've declined our offer of help, I guess the best thing for us to do is proceed as we agreed beforehand, and go help out _Lerteiran. _Good luck with your negotiations, Commander." The screen went blank. T'Lar's nostrils widened and she glared at the viewer, shamelessly entertaining visions of feeding a certain Human captain to a pack of starving Le'Matya's, one limb at a time.

#

Daniel finished prying the cover off the front of his station and shot a quick dose from the fire extinguisher into the depths of the console. The smoldering fumes stopped. Jenrali hit the comm and got nothing. The viewscreen was dark, as was the nav display and Jenrali's control board. All sensor feeds were dead.

Daniel stepped over to the ladder and yelled down, "Sehlra! Status? Are you hurt?"

"No! But someone is going to be hurting real bad when I get my hands on them! _I JUST GOT THESE ENGINES FIXED!"_

"We have to finish him now, Lad, if we want to live long enough to see another ale." Jenrali looked worried. "If we don't get those bars, Sehlra will take it out of our bone marrow."

Daniel moved to his board and started pressing buttons and moving levers. "Active sensors – dead. Phase cannon targeting – dead. Passive sensors – dead. Torpedo control – dea... wait a second." He adjusted a series of controls. "Maybe. Just maybe...," he muttered. Then he jumped up and grabbed the emergency toolkit from its place against the bulkhead. He slid under the console and started ripping out charred modules, pitching them carelessly across the floor. "Here it is. And... is it..._ Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition!_ It's intact." He slid out and gleefully showed Jenrali a small rectangular module.

"Backup controller for the active sensors. The power relays for the sensors are fried, but the torpedo circuits are still getting power. If this controller unit fits, we might be able to fire one more shot."

Jenrali smiled. "And the torpedo has its own guidance system."

Daniel watched as Jenrali stepped over to T'Riss and touched her cheek. "Lass." She made no response. The Vulcan woman was semi-comatose. Her eyes were glazed, her facial muscles were slack, and she seemed indifferent to her surroundings. Jenrali shook his head and turned back as Daniel got to work.

It didn't take long to bring back a dim, grainy image to the viewscreen. _Lerteiran _was drifting slightly, and Grigor-Tel's ship was no longer directly ahead. Daniel said tightly, "Instead of firing at full power, I have the option of spring launching from the loading rack itself. Then I can use the torpedo's thrusters to maneuver it into position before I kick in the main booster. It won't hit anywhere near as hard that way, but it looks like the only chance I have to actually nail him."

"Do it," Jenrali ordered. Daniel nodded tightly and pressed the launch button. The camera angle changed wildly as the torpedo dropped away from the ship. Since the weapon was not perfectly center balanced, it started to wobble slightly, eventually bringing the front end around and pointing it in the general direction of the scout ship.

Jenrali hissed. The entire left rear of Grigor-Tel's ship was missing. The ring nacelle had been completely severed and drifted freely, slowly moving away from the area. A few remaining strands of vapor seemed to be all that remained of his warp plasma. Frozen lumps of coolant still adorned the remnants of what had once comprised the impulse drive – now a glowing radioactive lump of molten slag. No lights were showing.

"Is he still alive in that thing?" Daniel asked in a hushed voice.

"Yes." It was a hollow rasp. Both men turned to look at T'Riss. She had not moved anything but her lips. "He lives. Still." She fell silent again, staring vacantly at nothing in particular.

"All right then." Daniel squared his shoulders. "Here we go." He gingerly put his hands on the controls as if they were hot and started nudging them with micro-touches. The viewscreen shifted in tiny jerks, incrementally pulling itself around to bring Grigor-Tel's ship into the center of the target array. A final touch on the controls by Daniel's outspread fingers stabilized the torpedo and left it fixed in position. "Now. We move." He tapped the main booster. The targeting array lit up and started blinking green. Daniel made a tiny course correction and the blinking stopped. A bright green dot appeared, superimposed over the center of Grigor-Tel's cockpit. The image started growing larger with agonizing slowness.

"I'll never get used to Human color codes," Jenrali muttered. Daniel coughed a laugh and sat back. There was nothing else for him to do now but wait. Either it was going to work or it wasn't.

Grigor-Tel's ship grew larger on the screen. Finally only the front half showed, and even that much was almost covered by the bright green targeting dot. Suddenly T'Riss stiffened. "He sees it." She was trembling. "He sees it. It is coming. He sees it." She chanted as if drugged. "He sees it. It is coming and he sees it. It is death. He sees it coming for him. It is coming for him. He sees it..."

"Hush, girl," Jenrali said firmly. T'Riss clamped her mouth shut. She sat rigid, staring at the screen. The two men looked at each other, then back at the Vulcan woman. The targeting dot filled the screen, and then the screen went black.

T'Riss screamed. She spasmed and straightened in her seat hard enough to break the backrest completely off. Both of the chains holding her wrists snapped like strings as her hands grabbed at her temples. Jenrali and Daniel jumped together to grab her. One of her flailing arms caught Jenrali in the belly and sent him staggering backwards. Daniel lunged across the broken back of the chair and caught her in a bear hug from behind. She twisted and fought her way free, smashing her head into his face and knocking several of his teeth loose in the process.

T'Riss fell to the floor with her back arched, foaming at the mouth and,jerking spasmodically. Jenrali staggered to the ladder and shouted down, somewhat breathlessly. "Sehlra, bring a trank. The Vulcan is out of control."

Seconds later Sehlra came pounding up the ladder with a hypo in her teeth. She pulled the cap and watched for her chance, diving in with speed and precision to plant the injection against the side of T'Riss's neck in one smooth stab. Soon the convulsions settled down into occasional quivers. Daniel knelt by her side. "I think she's breathing all right," he reported with relief.

"From her reaction, I take it the job's done," Sehlra said with grim satisfaction.

"Yes," Jenrali confirmed. He gestured at Daniel. "The lad did well. Good shooting, Daniel."

"Thanks," Daniel replied. He sat back on his heels, suddenly exhausted. "How's the prisoner?" It hit him that he had not thought of Raijiin since they spotted Grigor-Tel.

"Right where you left her, boy," Sehlra reported, looking smug. "Smiling and snoring." She laughed unkindly. "She won't be smiling when the Human ship gets here, though. They sent me a coded message before this all started," she told them.

"What?" Jenrali looked upset. "What kind of message? Why didn't they send it openly?"

"Think about it," Sehlra glanced significantly at the unconscious Vulcan on the deckplates. Enlightenment suddenly broke over both of the male faces.

"What did they say?" Daniel wanted to know.

Sehlra reported with relish. "They knew my Guard I.D. The High Command gave it to them because they want us to cooperate with the Humans."

"And give them Raijiin," Daniel said in realization.

"That's it," Sehlra nodded. She recited the list of charges that she had been sent.

"_A bioweapon!" _Daniel jumped up. "She helped them gather data for a bioweapon?" he demanded in disbelief. Selhra nodded in confirmation. The news was the last straw in the face of the hatred he'd felt battling the Nausicans. Intellectually, he knew that the ones he'd just killed weren't the same individuals who'd killed his family, but his gut said otherwise. He stood fighting impotent anger for several seconds, shaking his head. "We can always give _Enterprise _her body and say she resisted," he suggested, only partly joking, fighting his horror with a poor attempt at humor.

"Daniel," Jenrali told him soberly, taking his suggestion completely seriously. "You have every right to revenge, but she is not ours to kill. She belongs to all of your people. The Humans on _Enterprise _lost friends and family to the Xindi too, didn't they? In fact, they were the ones who went into the Expanse. And there were others on Earth who knew grief from that cowardly attack. She belongs to all of your people, not just you." Daniel considered telling Jenrali that he hadn't been serious, and then realized that perhaps he had been.

"He's right, Daniel. You know he is." Sehlra patted his shoulder. "Come now. Back to work. You have sensors to repair, I have engines to repair, Jenrali has a nav comp to repair. We all have work to do. I will go get a blanket and a cushion for our client here, and then let's get busy."

Daniel smiled wryly at his crewmates—his family—and nodded. Then he made his way wearily back to his ruined console to take stock of the damage. Sehlra returned with a pillow and a blanket, tucked T'Riss in cozily where she lay sleeping on the deckplates, still restrained by her ankle cuffs about the base of the nav chair, and then turned to head back to the engine room to make her own damage assessment. Jenrali retrieved a padd and started on a list of necessary repairs by priority.

They'd barely had time to get started before the transporter whine sounded.

Daniel slid out from under his console and found Jenrali facing two Humans and a Vulcan. Both Humans were wearing Starfleet uniforms and, oddly enough, the Vulcan was wearing what appeared to be Starfleet rank pips on civilian clothing.

"About time you people got here," Jenrali griped. "We could certainly use some help."

End of Episode Three. To be continued in Episode Four.


	4. Chapter 4a

**The Lerteiran Chronicles**

**Episode Four: Reparations**

**By Blacknblue and 2Distracted**

**Genre: Action Adventure and just a tad of romance **

**Rating: PG-13 **

**Disclaimer: We don't own the Star Trek universe. We just go there to play. Honest. We do, however, own our original characters and story ideas. You are welcome to borrow them, as long as no money changes hands. If we can't make anything from this, nobody else gets to either. **

**Summary: After her battle with the Nausicans, _Lerteiran_ is dead in space, requiring major repairs yet again. The alliance between the _Enterprise_ and the _Sehlat_ is stretched to the breaking point, and bonds of trust will have to be re-forged between all parties involved. When the debris is cleared and everything is back in working order, where will alliances lie, who will gain custody of Raijiin, and who can be trusted to keep their word?**

###################################

"Captain Jenrali Dor Liuk Sefroth?"

The Vulcan woman who stood facing Jenrali had materialized on the bridge of the _Lerteiran_ flanked by two uniformed Human Starfleet officers. She was in civilian clothes with Starfleet pips on one shoulder, but she looked like she was the one in charge, or at least she spoke up without any objection by the Humans. Suddenly it clicked for Daniel and he knew who she must be.

"Yes. And who are you, Vulcan?" Jenrali didn't sound like he was in any mood to be accommodating to anyone, much less a Vulcan.

"I'm guessing this would be Commander T'Pol," Daniel said, standing up and offering the ta'al. "Daniel Johansen, ma'am. This is Captain Sefroth. Sehlra, our Engineer, is trying to patch our power plant back together. Raijiin is in sickbay, drugged and strapped down. Help yourself," he added with a bitter smile. "Please."

Broad smiles broke over the faces of the two Humans at his final words. The Vulcan told Daniel, "You are correct. I am Commander T'Pol. This is our Chief of Security Lieutenant Reed, and our Communications Chief Lieutenant Sato." She indicated first the serious faced dark-haired man and then the lovely oriental woman who stood on either side of her. He smiled at them and nodded, acknowledging the introduction.

"You said Raijiin is in sickbay?" Lieutenant Reed asked, without even bothering to conceal his eagerness. "Where might that be?"

"I'll show you," Daniel said, turning toward the ladder.

"Hold a second, Lad," Jenrali told him. Daniel pulled up short and waited obediently. Jenrali addressed the three Starfleet officers. "I have no problem with giving her to you. The Great Mother knows, after what she and this Vulcan girl did to Daniel we almost killed them both ourselves, but we went to a lot of trouble and expense to track down Grigor-Tel because this girl," he pointed at T'Riss, "promised us a reward of fifty bars of latinum for killing him. Well, we did our job. But now she's out cold and who knows how long it might be until she can confirm the deal? Where does that leave us?"

"Right as rain, I would say," Reed retorted. "The Vulcans have openly acknowledged to us that they offered a reward for Grigor-Tel, dead or alive. We saw you kill him ourselves, and we have the records to prove it if you need them. So you should have no worries on that score." Jenrali and Daniel both relaxed.

"In addition," T'Pol mentioned, kneeling beside T'Riss and checking her vital signs, "Earthgov has offered a standing reward of five bars of latinum for information leading to the arrest of Raijiin. You have indisputably earned that reward as well."

"Whoa," Daniel looked at Jenrali with a grin. "Maybe we should switch to bounty hunting."

"Not likely, Lad. I just want to get my ship repaired and get back to trading." The old man looked tired. "I've had enough excitement for a while."

"How is she?" Daniel asked T'Pol, who was taking scans of T'Riss.

"I believe that she has entered into a Vulcan healing trance," T'Pol answered. "It would be advisable for her to receive medical attention without undue delay. We should transfer her to _Enterprise_ for immediate treatment. She can then be moved to the _Sehlat_ once her condition stabilizes. Can you give me any information about what caused her condition?"

Jenrali and Daniel looked at each other and shrugged. Jenrali said, "When Daniel blew up Grigor-Tel's ship, she screamed, went crazy, and started having some sort of seizure. Sehlra gave her a tranquilizer and she passed out. That's all we know."

T'Pol's brows drew together and she pulled out her communicator. "T'Pol to Phlox, medical emergency." She started conferring with someone and the two Humans walked over to talk to Daniel and Jenrali.

The attractive young communications chief asked, "Mr. Johansen, something was said earlier about Raijiin doing something to you. Did she touch you or molest you in any way?"

Daniel's face tightened, and he hesitated. The woman put a sympathetic hand on his arm. "Yeah," he replied curtly.

"They both did," Jenrali growled. "Ice-burned _reloqvori_ melders."

"Excuse me," T'Pol stepped up. "Did I understand you to say that both Raijiin and T'Riss assaulted Mr. Johansen telepathically?" Reed had turned and was looking speculatively at T'Riss.

Daniel hesitated, then sighed. "What happened was, T'Riss came to my cabin and brought Raijiin so she could probe me." He paused, swallowing. The memory still made him sick to his stomach. The Vulcan commander nodded encouragingly. Her expression was unusually sympathetic for a Vulcan. "Then after Raijiin was done, T'Riss nerve pinched me and shot me full of some dope to make me... compliant," he spat. "Then they brought me over here to talk Jenrali and Sehlra into helping them kill Grigor-Tel."

T'Pol turned away for a moment. Her voice sounded slightly forced when she said, "Lieutenant Reed, you will take both Subcenturion T'Riss and Raijiin into custody. Inform Doctor Phlox that T'Riss is to be kept under secure watch. I will notify Captain Archer that T'Riss should be held as an accomplice to telepathic assault, as well as assault and battery and kidnapping. Transfer the prisoners as soon as _Enterprise_ docks." She turned to the ruined bridge console and raised a brow thoughtfully. "Lieutenant Sato," she added, "inform Commander Tucker that we'll need an engineering team assembled to assist with repairs on the _Lerteiran_. The sooner this ship is operational and we're out of this system, the less likely we are to attract the attention of the rest of the Nausicans."

#

The two Nausican fighters exploded silently but spectacularly a mere half kilometer from the _Sehlat_'s hull, targeted by precise twin disruptor blasts seconds prior to their projected suicidal impacts with the Vulcan vessel. Commander T'Lar exhaled heavily, with thinly disguised frustration.

"Their refusal to surrender was highly illogical." Subcommander Verlen pointed out the obvious. "We had no choice."

She acknowledged his statement with a brief inclination of her head. "Locate and rendezvous with _Enterprise_," she told him, putting the incident aside now that it was over. Dwelling on the past served no useful purpose. "We should get the _Lerteiran_'s engines operational and leave this system immediately."

Verlen studied the information the sensors had acquired while _Sehlat_ had been occupied with the Nausicans. His eyes widened almost imperceptibly. "_Enterprise_ has docked with _Lerteiran_," he said. There was a pause as he studied the readings in more detail. T'Lar gave him an expectant look. "Biosigns indicate that neither Subcenturion T'Riss nor the alien Raijiin are aboard the _Lerteiran_. It appears that they have been transported to _Enterprise_," he finished in a mildly surprised tone.

T'Lar raised a brow. _Both of them? What an unexpected development_, she thought. Agent Senek, who'd been silently standing on the bridge watching the battle, unable to contribute much as a mere observer and advisor, seemed amused.

"Apparently, the rumors are true," he commented. "What Jonathan Archer wants, Jonathan Archer gets."

T'Lar shot him a quelling look, and then pursed her lips thoughtfully. She'd thought that the High Council had made Vulcan's claim on the alien telepath quite clear to Starfleet, and T'Riss certainly had no business aboard the Human vessel. In other circumstances she might have admired Captain Archer's initiative in gaining custody of his quarry, but he was gravely mistaken if he thought that she would stand for the abduction of persons under her authority.

"Open a channel to _Enterprise_," T'Lar said brusquely to the comm officer. He complied with alacrity, evidently sensing her mood. Jonathan Archer's head and shoulders appeared, larger than life on the view screen. He was baring his teeth again. T'Lar was unfamiliar with Human mannerisms, but it seemed to her that the man spent an inordinate amount of time sporting the facial grimace which Humans called a smile. One would think that his muscles would become fatigued eventually.

"I see you've finished off the Nausicans, Commander," he told her affably. "I hope your ship wasn't damaged in the process."

T'Lar ignored his inane statement. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Agent Senek step to her side, as if to offer support, but she didn't ask for any. There were only two possible explanations for Archer's actions that she could think of. She opted for the more politically correct of the two, not because she thought it was actually the truth, but because armed conflict with a supposed ally wasn't on her list of things to do today.

"I see that you've brought my crew member and her companion aboard your ship, Captain. I assume that you're treating them for injuries sustained in the battle," T'Lar said flatly. "We're ready now to have them transferred to our sickbay for continued treatment. Please do so at once. Both of them pose a potential danger to your crew. Subcenturion T'Riss is not well, and Raijiin is..." She paused to find suitable words, raising a thoughtful brow, "...difficult to handle at times," she finished diplomatically.

Archer's smile appeared strained as he replied. "You're correct, Commander. Both of them are in Sickbay," he confirmed, "but they're stable, and neither of them pose a danger to anyone at the present time. I'll have our physician contact your healer regarding the treatment of your crew member." He paused for a moment, and then his smile vanished. "I'll also be sending a transcript of an interview Commander T'Pol conducted with Daniel Johansen. Mr. Johansen confirms the complicity of your crew member and her accomplice in an assault upon his person and subsequent kidnapping, actions which are grounds for prosecution under the laws of both Earth and Vulcan... so we'll be holding both the subcenturion and Raijiin in custody for the time being... until Starfleet and the Vulcan High Council come to an agreement about how this incident should be handled."

T'Lar blinked. The sheer gall of the man was daunting. "Captain Archer, if the two women you have removed from my custody without authorization were indeed involved in the commission of such a crime while on board my vessel, then they will be tried and punished under Vulcan law. You have no right to hold them if the alleged crime was committed in Vulcan's jurisdiction," she asserted.

"Any assault on a citizen of Earth falls under Earth's jurisdiction, Commander... and the suspects were not in your custody at the time of their arrest. They were taken into custody in neutral territory with the complete cooperation of the captain and crew of _Lerteiran_," replied Archer. "They will remain in my custody until I receive orders to the contrary." His tone brooked no argument, and T'Lar could think of none to offer. The Human's strategy was impeccable.

"I've sent an engineering team to _Lerteiran_ to get her operational, but it might be faster if you send someone as well, since our team is unfamiliar with Andorian warp engines. Do you have an experienced engineer available?" Archer went on innocently, as if the issue were completely resolved. T'Lar cleared her throat.

"I'll see what I can do, Captain. We'll discuss this matter further once we're out of Nausican territory." She inclined her head politely and gestured to her comm officer, who cut the connection before Archer could reply. Then she sat looking at the viewscreen before her, upon which an aesthetically pleasing view of the cloud-covered world they now orbited was displayed, and fumed silently for several minutes, sitting forward in her command chair with her elbows resting on her knees and her fingers steepled before her lips. Subcommander Verlen, always tactful, said nothing.

_How is this possible?_ she mused. _Either the Human has been a step ahead of me the entire time, or the man is the luckiest being in the known universe._ Being Vulcan, T'Lar had no faith in fortunate coincidences, and so she was forced to admit the obvious. She'd been outsmarted by a Human. It was a humbling experience.

Agent Senek finally broke the silence.

"If you'll excuse me, Commander," he said quietly. She raised her head hopefully, eager for any suggestion which might remedy her situation. Unfortunately, Senek had none to offer. "My superiors will want to be informed of this latest development. I should call in a report," he told her gravely. T'Lar exhaled heavily and nodded. He left the bridge. She turned to the ship's comm in the arm of her chair.

"Bridge to Engineering."

"_Yes, Commander?"_

"Assemble a repair team familiar with Andorian technology and report to Shuttle bay One immediately. You are to rendezvous with _Enterprise_ and assist with repairs on the _Lerteiran_," she said in a resigned voice.

"_Acknowledged."_

Soon, every citizen of Vulcan with sufficient security clearance to be granted access to such information would be making his or her own assumptions about her intelligence. Now was one of those times when she regretted her vivid imagination. She could actually hear the sound of her career being flushed down the waste disposal unit.

#

Jonathan Archer allowed himself a brief smile of triumph before rising from the command chair to join three quarters of _Enterprise_'s bridge crew in his ready room for a conference. He tried to prepare himself for anything, but knew that in all likelihood he was about to be lied to very convincingly. The prospect actually didn't disturb him as much as it should have, since the results were proving to be so satisfactory. As a matter of fact, as long as the story he was about to be told was convincing enough for Starfleet Command, he was prepared to accept it at face value.

"Mr. Mayweather, you have the con," he said, passing through the door in the wake of the helmsman's broad smile of acknowledgment. Commander T'Pol, Lieutenant Reed, and Lieutenant Sato waited for him, standing in a row beside the table with subdued expressions. Archer still did an inward double take when he heard his Communication Officer's new rank, the result of a belated but well-earned gesture of appreciation from Starfleet for her extensive work with the still experimental Universal Translator.

He took a seat and started with his second in command. T'Pol's eyes met his with a level gaze. There was no trace of either remorse or trepidation on her face. Whatever she'd done, she at least seemed to have no regrets.

"When you left the bridge so abruptly after we took care of the Nausicans, I was under the impression that you were planning to contact the commander of the _Sehlat_ privately to discuss plans for the _Lerteiran_ and her passengers," he told T'Pol with an expectant expression. Then he waited. Her chin came up.

"I discovered certain details of Lieutenant Reed's plan, and I saw the value of it. I knew that you were under direct orders not to interfere with the High Command's claim on Raijiin," she said stoically. "Those orders, in my opinion, no longer applied, as Raijiin was no longer in Vulcan custody, but I could see that you had no plans to take advantage of that fact. I saw an opportunity to gain custody of a dangerous criminal, so I took it."

Archer contemplated her statement for a moment, nodding thoughtfully. Then he turned to Malcolm Reed. "I should have known you were up to something when you left the bridge practically while the phase cannons were still firing at that last Nausican ship for a 'damage inspection'... and my Communications Chief followed you out," he commented wryly. "I have no doubt that all this was your idea, Lieutenant. What do you have to say for yourself?" At this question, the Security Chief's face became a very convincing picture of affronted innocence.

"My intent was to rescue Daniel Johansen from a dangerous situation, as per your orders, sir. You were occupied with the Nausicans, so I chose to act on my own initiative," Malcolm claimed. Archer chuckled dryly. Malcolm ignored him and continued matter-of-factly. "I requested Commander T'Pol's assistance because the last communiqué from the _Sehlat_ indicated that Subcenturion T'Riss had commandeered the _Lerteiran_. I thought that our boarding party had a better chance of reasoning with an irrational Vulcan if we had a Vulcan in command."

Archer raised a brow, and nodded begrudgingly. Then his eyes cut to Hoshi, who was gazing at Malcolm with eyes shining in admiration. _Where did that come from?_ Archer thought, puzzled. Had he missed something?

Evidently, Malcolm considered his bewildered glance a request for information. "I also asked for Lieutenant Sato's help because, in the event that the Andorian captain had managed to regain control of his vessel, I felt it advisable to have someone along who spoke fluent Andorian," added Malcolm.

Archer exhaled heavily in relief. _All very reasonable_, he thought to himself, _but would Starfleet buy it?_ They might, he decided, if no one pointed out the fact that the three of them had acted without orders-and with premeditation, if Archer interpreted the repair orders he'd signed for the communications grid correctly.

_It could work_, he thought optimistically. He turned to Hoshi with a hopeful look. Her face was so open and honest. The brass were sure to believe her. "Is that what happened, Lieutenant?" he asked.

"Oh, yes, sir," she confirmed with emphatic sincerity. "And then, when we boarded _Lerteiran_ to rescue Mr. Johansen, Captain Sefroth and his crew asked us to take custody of Raijiin and Subcenturion T'Riss for safety reasons. The _Sehlat_ was occupied at the time, and Mr. Johansen was afraid he'd be attacked again... so, you see, we really had no choice but to bring them aboard," she told him, wide-eyed and almost childishly earnest. Her partners in crime nodded their agreement straight-faced.

Archer smiled. Yes. This was definitely going to work. They had Raijiin. Now all he had to do was to convince both Starfleet Command and the Vulcan High Council to let them keep her.

#

T'Lar felt her teeth aching and realized that her jaws were clenched dangerously tightly. She closed her eyes and concentrated on relaxation breathing exercises. Eventually sufficient control returned to allow her to open her mouth and take a sip of soothing tea. The taste washed over her tongue and helped settle the turmoil in her mind, if only briefly.

The words on the screen were damning. Commander T'Pol's report was concise to the point of being terse, but it was dismally complete. Daniel Johansen had formally accused Subcenturion T'Riss of assisting Raijiin in a telepathic attack, as well as deliberately injecting him with a mind altering drug in order to expedite his kidnapping. To make matters worse, the Andorian captain was on record as stating that he and his engineer were considering executing the subcenturion in retaliation for her actions. Which, as the captain of an independent ship, he would have the authority to do under Andorian law if he were willing to accept the inevitable repercussions. At least the Andorian government would not consider him guilty of any crime.

Considering their conditions and circumstance, transferring T'Riss and Raijiin to _Enterprise_ had been the only logical course of action available to T'Pol. Her tentative plan to accuse Captain Archer of abduction was untenable. Not even the old High Command would have been able to argue that taking the two women into custody was unjustified-for their own health and safety if nothing else. Once they were in Human custody, Earth law took precedence under the treaty. The rules were quite clear.

T'Lar sat back in absolute frustration and heard a snap. She felt something prick her palm and looked down to see the end of her broken stylus protruding from the heel of her clenched fist. That settled the matter beyond any doubt. She would be spending an extra half hour in meditation every evening until this situation was dealt with, but for the present, blood loss was a more pressing issue.

She walked into Sickbay holding a napkin against the puncture. Tyvek looked up from his scanner and scowled. He always scowled when someone came in with a minor accidental injury. He regarded them as evidence of inexcusable inattention. Serious injuries might be regarded as unavoidable consequences of circumstances beyond one's control, but minor cuts, bruises, and pokes were, to Tyvek, merely proof that the patient had not been paying attention. He had little sympathy for such.

"Over here," he ordered, walking to the first aid cabinet. T'Lar obediently followed and stood quietly while Tyvek disinfected and sealed the wound. He did not bother to inquire how she had come by the minor injury. She was confident that he really didn't care how she had done it. He was just irritated that she had done it at all.

"Do you have a preliminary report on Subcenturion T'Riss?" T'Lar asked, hoping to divert his attention and avoid a lecture.

"There is very little to report at this time," Tyvek said. "She is deep in healing trance. Her vital signs are stable. There are no physical reasons for her condition."

"So she will require the assistance of the healing meld?" T'Lar waited while Tyvek brusquely turned away and disposed of his tools.

"There is nothing I can do for her," he admitted. Turning around, he added, "and very little that I can do for anyone else on this ship, if they continue to persist in playing with sharp and/or heated objects as if they were children's toys."

"Understood, and noted, Healer." T'Lar turned and made as dignified an exit as possible, trying to maximize speed without actually breaking into a run.

#

The sound of boots on the access ladder pulled Sehlra out from under the console and had her watching warily when yet another strange Human descended into her domain. "Another untrained pup," she snorted, "just exactly what I need underfoot."

At least the Vulcans were all outside, rebuilding her poor abused nacelles again. Sehlra had seen the friction between the two groups as soon as they set foot on board. Since the greenbloods had better suits, and because she didn't like them anyway, Sehlra soon decided that it would be better if the Vulcans did all the outside work and the Humans concentrated on helping her with the interior repairs, which turned out to be a waste of time-hers and theirs.

The Human, this time it was a young male not much older than Daniel, tilted his head and pursed his lips. "Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm Charles Tucker, but my friends call me Trip." He smiled dazzlingly, showing off his youthful good looks to excellent effect, and extended his hand in Human fashion. "I'm Chief Engineer on _Enterprise_," Sehlra eyed him up and down, grasped his fingers and squeezed. He only winced a little, and continued to explain himself. "I heard the people we sent weren't quite up to speed on your equipment and thought maybe I could help out. I've worked with Andorian stuff before, when we were in the Expanse. Not much, but enough to read most of the basic symbols, anyway."

Sehlra barked a derisive laugh. "At least you admit you don't know anything. That's a refreshing change. If you can just get me the parts I need, I will do my own repairs. I have had enough of half grown whelps fumbling around with my engines to do me a lifetime."

"Sure thing," Tucker said agreeably. "You got a list?" She handed him her PADD.

"That's not all of it," she made sure to tell him. "Just enough to get started."

"Thanks for translating it," he told her and started scanning it. "Uh-huh. We can do that... injector - we can give you one of our extras and retrofit it I think..."

"No," Sehlra shook her head. "Better get a stock injector from the Vulcans. I don't need some cobbled together makeshift."

Tucker waved it off, "The ones we use are based on Vulcan design, with some improvements I made. You can inspect it before it goes in and if you don't like it, we'll get you a Vulcan injector. But I'm pretty sure you'll like it." He shot another brilliant grin at her, and then went back to reading and making inarticulate Human noises.

"Improvements?" Sehlra looked closely at the young Human. Perhaps he was more than just a pretty face. "Are you a design engineer? What is a stylus pusher doing out here in the real universe?"

"I'm kind of a hybrid," he told her with a self deprecating half-smile. "I helped cobble together that makeshift engine on _Enterprise_ to begin with. So they sent me out here with it to keep an eye on things. I think Starfleet Command figured if it was gonna blow up it would only be fair that it should take me with it."

A slight glint of respect began to shine in the old woman's eyes. "Maybe you aren't as helpless as I thought, youngster," she considered. Out loud she asked him, "Ever see one of these Vulcan reactors before?"

Trip walked over and said, "Lorik class. Been standard in Vulcan cargo ships for the last fifty years or so. A fairly solid design, but it uses the Xantel crossover alignment. That configuration is self-limiting, especially when you don't use a ring nacelle. We use two parallel nacelles, same as your people do, so the Xantel crossover just doesn't work for us."

Sehlra blinked. "By the green scum on the southern ice floes," she declared with a broad smile. "Get over here, boy, and look at something. I had the thought that if I re-routed the flow through my original dilithium matrix, then split the energy stream just before it reaches the Xantel bridge and tie the power grid..."

#

Captain Jonathan Archer strolled cheerfully into Sickbay, whistling tunelessly under his breath. Everything was dead quiet. The Vulcan subcenturion lay utterly still on a biobed, appearing unchanged since he'd last checked her status on arrival. His gaze switched to the darkened screen of the video feed from the isolation chamber. Phlox had deactivated the camera within the isolation chamber where Raijiin was being housed on Archer's recommendation, and was monitoring her via biosign sensors and brainwave scans. The alien telepath was tremendously dangerous, capable of taking control of another being's mind with a glance, and he'd had direct experience with her powers. They weren't taking any chances.

He caught sight of Phlox poring with great concentration over his work station and walked over to peer over his shoulder. "How are our guests doing? Any change?" he inquired. Phlox, who'd evidently been so absorbed in what he was reading that he hadn't heard Archer come in, jumped in his seat and looked up. He didn't look happy.

"Hello, Captain," he said with a rueful half-smile. "I assume you've come for an update on the prisoners."

Archer's smile was knocked down a notch by Phlox's demeanor, but he was still determined to remain in good spirits. After all, how often does a man get to out-connive a Vulcan, even with help? "Why so glum, man?" he asked the Denobulan, grinning. "Cheer up! We've got her... and a renegade Vulcan to boot!" The injured Vulcan was a lucky break. Now he had a bargaining chip for negotiation. He could grant the Vulcans a diplomatic concession by giving them back their rebellious subcenturion and hopefully still keep Raijiin. It was a win-win situation, but Phlox apparently didn't see it that way. The Denobulan doctor shook his head and sighed, gesturing at the screen he'd been reading.

"The _Sehlat_'s healer sent over the information I requested. Healer Tyvek was of the opinion that the subcenturion's symptoms were entirely psychological until I sent him the results of the brain scan I just completed. Now he says she may die unless we get her to the hospital ship orbiting the Orion space station within the next few days," said Phlox, obviously frustrated. "He won't tell me why, but he seems to think that only a Vulcan healer trained in healing melds can save her."

Jonathan Archer's smile vanished. This was a concerning development. It wouldn't do at all for the woman to die on his watch. "T'Pol said she was in a Vulcan healing trance. Doesn't that mean she's getting better?" he asked, puzzled.

"She's in a healing trance, all right, but some Vulcans never come out of them, especially if the damage is mental rather than physical," Phlox explained.

"So... what do you think is wrong with her?" demanded Archer. "Is she really dying or are the Vulcans just trying to pull a fast one and convince us to give her to them without a fight?"

Phlox grimaced, and then pulled up what looked like two multicolored artist's renderings of brains-obviously some sort of scans-and proceeded to compare the two images, gesturing at the screen.

"You can see here that the changes in the limbic regions are virtually identical. The changes on the right are much more severe, of course, but the damage appears to have been caused by the same type of insult. This one on the right is the scan I made today of Subcenturion T'Riss," he explained. He hesitated a moment, and then added reluctantly, "The second scan is the one I did of Commander T'Pol after the... incident... with Tolaris."

Archer blinked, absorbing this new information. The scans were just technicolor special effects as far as he was concerned, but he understood the concept-he thought. "So what you're saying is that this is brain trauma from a telepathic assault?" His eyes strayed to the isolation chamber where Raijiin was being kept. "Did Raijiin...?"

Phlox shook his head. "According to Healer Tyvek, T'Riss and Raijiin were allies when they left the _Sehlat_, and Captain Sefroth of the _Lerteiran_ confirms that Raijiin had no contact with T'Riss during her time aboard his ship. He's convinced, strangely enough, that the damage occurred when Grigor-Tel's ship was destroyed." Phlox appeared truly puzzled, staring at the scans. "The sudden violent rupture of a close telepathic connection could theoretically do this sort of damage... but it makes no sense unless the two of them were mentally joined at the time of his death," he mused.

"But I thought Vulcans were touch telepaths," Archer objected. "Even if she were a melder, wouldn't T'Riss have had to touch him? They were kilometers apart."

Phlox nodded. "Ordinarily so, Captain... unless..." He paused, and his expression changed suddenly, as if a light had just been activated in his head. He turned back to his console, feverishly typing. In seconds, he'd called up an article from the Vulcan database and begun to read, leaving Archer frustrated and unenlightened.

"Phlox! What? What is it?" Archer demanded.

Phlox's mouth twisted in wry amusement as he quoted, "The Vulcan Science Directorate has determined that mating bonds between Vulcans and non-Vulcans do not occur." He looked up at Archer and commented obscurely, "Well, this is hardly the first time they've been proven wrong." Then he kept reading. Archer exhaled heavily.

"Mating bond? What's a mating bond?" he asked plaintively.

#

Trip dragged his weary butt through the airlock and pointed it toward the mess hall, hoping that Chef had fixed something easy to chew. He didn't have enough energy to fight his way through anything tough.

One of those hunches that were becoming more common and more dependable with each passing day told him that he would find T'Pol waiting for him there. Trip smiled, but a touch of worry kept it from spreading too widely. He could get used to this real easy. But did he dare?

Trip had spent a lot of time lately reading up on Vulcan mating. Problem was, the database was almost empty on the subject. Modern Vulcans were worse than Victorian England when it came to discussing sex. Phlox was willing to give him technical information on the subject, but he insisted that his knowledge of Vulcan custom and tradition was too limited to be dependable.

"You really need to be talking about this with T'Pol, Commander," the doctor had insisted, and refused to discuss the matter any further.

And there was the rub. Getting T'Pol to talk about anything intimate was like pulling teeth. Ever since they had confirmed the existence of their mating bond, she seemed to be as eager as he was to resume physical intimacy, but any other kind of intimacy was a different story. It was ironic, he mused, that he had a permanent telepathic connection to the woman and still could not get inside her head.

Maybe one of those Vulcan healers would be willing to talk to him about it. Of course, he would have to explain why he wanted to know. Trip winced at the thought of explaining to T'Pol that he had revealed the existence of their bond to another Vulcan.

That was something else that bothered him. She was ashamed to acknowledge him. Not officially, of course, but she didn't even want to admit their relationship to their friends. She told him it was private, and she wanted to keep it that way.

"Private. Right." He sighed. The mess hall was just ahead. Maybe his mood would improve if he put some food in his stomach. He hadn't eaten since breakfast-and come to think of it, he'd skipped breakfast again. So that meant he hadn't eaten since dinner last night. But then again, he'd been busy double checking the new redundancy circuits for the targeting sensors last night, so he'd skipped dinner too -but surely he'd eaten lunch yesterday, hadn't he? Trip couldn't remember.

He was right. T'Pol was waiting for him at one of their favorite tables next to the viewports. Trip raised his hand in greeting with a smile and went to collect some food. He missed the look of concern on his mate's face. A moment later she was at his elbow with her cup in hand. "I need a refill," she explained in answer to his questioning glance. He nodded tiredly. The beef stew looked good, especially with some of Chef's homemade bread to go with it. A cup of strong coffee finished him off. He glanced at the dessert rack, but decided he just couldn't stomach the thought of anything sweet for some reason.

Even the tray seemed heavy. T'Pol kept pace at his elbow while he walked back to the table she had picked out. Trip managed to set the tray down without spilling anything and fell into the chair with a grunt. T'Pol slid into her seat opposite him, pressing her lips together in disapproval.

"You have been overworking again." Trip raised both eyebrows at her and took a sip of coffee to avoid answering. The bitter concoction hit his stomach like sulfuric acid, causing him to shudder and look suspiciously at the mug.

"What did Chef put in that? Oven cleaner?"

"Trip, you are evading the issue," T'Pol scolded him. "Since we docked with _Lerteiran_ yesterday you have not slept. You have not joined me for a meal since breakfast yesterday."

He smiled dreamily at her. "I like the way my name sounds when you say it."

She sighed and looked at him. Abruptly changing tactics, she asked him, "Charles, do you not care about my well-being?"

"What?" He was rattled. "Of course I care! What kind of question is that? You know I care." Suddenly irritated, he protested, "Of all people, you have no reason to ask me that question."

"Then why do you insist on hurting me in this way?" T'Pol fixed him with a wide-eyed gaze. "Do you not understand that I feel what you feel? When you are exhausted, I feel your fatigue. When you are sore, and hungry, I feel your pain. When you suffer, I suffer. This is what it means to be bonded. The longer we are together, the more closely we are bound and the more deeply I sense your needs."

Trip slumped. "I didn't know that. I knew that it was getting stronger. I could feel that much. But I didn't know that you could feel how tired I was, or anything like that. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I-" she hesitated. "I thought you knew. I suppose that the connection is more powerful on my end because I am Vulcan. We should have discussed this."

"There's just a whole lot of things that we need to discuss, lady," Trip grumbled. "One way or the other, they are going to get discussed. Count on it." T'Pol looked alarmed and opened her mouth, but before she could respond an interruption appeared.

"Is this seat taken?" A jovial voice inserted itself between them, along with a new tray. Dr. Phlox sat down without waiting for an answer and greeted both of them with a broad smile. "Ah, it is good to get out of Sickbay for a few moments," he said, tucking his napkin into place. "I must say that this bread smells delicious. I have developed quite a refined palate for the breads of various worlds. For example, did you know commanders, that the Brillians actually make bread out of the spent egg casings of arboreal arthropods? The stuff is rather crunchy, but surprisingly good."

"Uh. You can have my share, Doc." Trip told him. He dug into his stew, avoiding eye contact with both of his table mates.

T'Pol squared her shoulders. "Is there anything new to report, Doctor?"

"Raijiin is making satisfactory progress," Phlox said around a bulging mouthful of bread. He took a swig of pumpkin juice and continued, "I do wish Lieutenant Reed was slightly less paranoid, however. She is confined within Sickbay's isolation chamber, and still sedated with pain medication. I am sure that under the circumstances one armed guard would be sufficient."

"The second guard was on my order, Doctor," T'Pol told him coldly. "Raijiin is not the only potentially dangerous criminal in custody. Since we do not know the precise nature of the trauma which caused Subcenturion T'Riss to enter the healing trance, we cannot be certain if or when she might emerge from it. When that happens, a single Human guard might easily be overwhelmed. I have no intention of permitting a dangerous Vulcan criminal to run loose aboard this ship." Her nostrils were flared, and the deep groove between her eyebrows warned Phlox to back off from the subject, pronto.

"As you wish, Commander," Phlox said, taking a bite of fresh bread with an agreeable expression, "Although I'm of the opinion that the subcenturion is more a victim than a dangerous criminal in these circumstances," he added, eyeing T'Pol questioningly. She seemed unconvinced. Trip thought that the doctor seemed to be about to say something else to T'Pol, but evidently thought better of it.

Phlox turned quickly to Trip. "But that reminds me of another subject. Commander Tucker, I believe that you are working aboard the Andorian vessel?"

"Yeah," Trip scooped up a mouthful of stew and said nothing more while he chewed.

Phlox blinked. "Well, then. Have you spoken to young Mr. Johansen by any chance?"

Trip shook his head, still chewing. He finally swallowed a mouthful, managed a quick, "Not really. Been working with the Andorian woman mainly," and scooped up another generous spoonful of stew. Once he had started eating, Trip realized that he was ravenous.

"Do you have some particular interest in Mr. Johansen?" T'Pol asked, obviously hoping to divert Phlox's inexorable persistence long enough for Trip get some food down. Trip smiled at her gratefully between bites.

"Actually, I do." Phlox looked vexed. "As you are well aware, Commander, that young man suffered the same type of telepathic attack that was inflicted by Raijiin on several of the officers here while we were in the Expanse. For a non-telepathic species like a Human, an invasion of this type is quite traumatic. My records following the attacks in the Expanse are quite clear. I do not believe that I would be compromising anyone's privacy when I tell you that every Human aboard who was attacked suffered neurological damage to some degree. Mr. Johansen needs to be scanned and treated. "

Trip grimaced. "You mean those damn shots you gave me, Doc?" T'Pol's appalled expression reminded Trip of how much he'd detested the series of injections. The bond must be more sensitive then he thought.

"Exactly," Phlox told him with almost bloodthirsty zeal, "The same 'damn shots' are precisely what he needs, Commander Tucker, and the sooner the better. I have tried to contact him, but he refuses to talk to me. In fact, the entire crew of that ship is remarkably unwelcoming."

Trip paused to rub his eyes. "You gotta remember what they've been through, Doc. I'll talk to him for you, tell him what he needs to do. I think I can get his attention all right."

"Not tonight," T'Pol said firmly. "I am sorry, Doctor. Commander Tucker has not eaten since breakfast yesterday, and has not slept in 39.4 hours. He needs to finish his meal and report to his bunk before he does anything else."

"Again?" Phlox exclaimed. He looked reproachfully at Trip. "Commander..."

Trip let out a tired excuse for a laugh. "I surrender. I'll eat and sleep before I fall over. I promise. Then I'll tell Danny boy to haul his stubborn butt over here to get treated. Are you two satisfied now?" He looked back and forth between them and noted the smug expressions. He sighed again.

#

In the interest of getting back to the rest of the task force as quickly as possible, the decision was made that _Sehlat_ would tow _Lerteiran_ via tractor beam at sublight velocity while repairs were being made. This meant that personnel had to transfer between ships by shuttlepod or transporter, but at least they were moving away from Nausican space. Nobody complained. Not even one particularly discomfited Vulcan healer who had better things to do than to ride a transport shuttle back and forth making personal visits to an alien ship's Sickbay all day long.

Healer Tyvek examined T'Riss in _Enterprise_'s Sickbay, conferring with Dr. Phlox in a low voice. A moment later, he noted Commander T'Pol, who was walking over to assist the Chief of Security with his check of security measures and to receive updates from the two guards on duty. Tyvek advanced toward her, determined to remedy her obvious error in judgment . She straightened. The Security Chief stepped back slightly, as was fitting, to give the two of them some privacy.

"Commander T'Pol," the older man said reprovingly. "Dr. Phlox informs me that it was by your express order that Subcenturion T'Riss has been restrained." He paused to allow her to explain herself. She raised a quizzical brow at him, seeming undaunted by his tone. Her lack of respect displeased him, but he was certain that she would cooperate once the situation was properly explained. "The subcenturion is deep in trance," he continued patiently, "Such restraints are redundant and, in the event of an additional seizure, potentially damaging. Authorize their removal at once."

"No." Her refusal was flat and unequivocal.

Tyvek stared, flabbergasted. For the first time in many years he found himself at a loss. Finally he gathered himself together and asked, "Commander T'Pol, did you hear what I said? The restraints are completely..."

To Tyvek's incredulity, he was interrupted. No one had interrupted him since he was an apprentice Healer-In-Training on his first internship assignment.

"You are well aware, Healer Tyvek, that in order for the subcenturion to enter into another seizure she would first have to rouse from her healing trance," replied T'Pol pedantically. "In the event of that occurrence, we will adapt our control measures as required to fit the changing circumstances. Otherwise, the restraints will remain in place. I refuse to risk the safety of this crew by any preventable degree, no matter how slight. This matter is non-negotiable." T'Pol's face and voice were as cold as any of the mind masters at their retreat in Gol.

Tyvek made one more try. He decided to soften his approach. Perhaps he had inadvertently antagonized the young woman. After all, this was not his ship and he had no real authority to issue demands here.

"Commander T'Pol," Tyvek offered quietly, "I understand your concern for your shipmates' safety. However, the subcenturion is merely a young girl who is suffering from delusional instability brought on by abuse. Even if she were to awaken, the degree of damage that she could accomplish would be minimal. After all, there are two armed guards standing right over there." He pointed at the door.

T'Pol heard him out with a face that might have been carved out of a glacier. When she was certain that he had finished, she replied. "Thank you for your input, Healer. If you have finished your examination, I believe that our superior officers are waiting for us in the briefing room."

Tyvek stared in disbelief. "As you wish, Commander." Upon reflection, he recalled that this woman had disobeyed direct orders from the High Command itself and resigned her commission to follow her own opinion. Staring at her stony expression, he came to the conclusion that he was unlikely to change her mind in the time he had available. Further attempts at doing so would serve no purpose. So he said nothing else as they made their way to the briefing room.

#

The three of them made the walk to the briefing room in silence. Malcolm was not in the habit of making small talk with his superior officers unless invited to do so, and Vulcans did not make small talk, period. T'Pol spent the time worrying about Trip.

Things were, as the Human saying expressed it, coming to a head. She had sensed impatience and irritation during their talk in the mess hall last night. "One way or the other, they are going to get discussed. Count on it," he had said. Given her mate's stubbornness, she felt certain that the subject was not closed. It was time to prepare herself for what to tell him. How much could she reveal? And how could she go about revealing it?

This was not going to be pleasant. If he left her again, T'Pol felt quite certain that she would not be able to endure it. She half closed her eyes and reached through the bond very briefly. He was still asleep. Excellent. That was another matter that needed to be discussed. His established habit of abusing himself must end. T'Pol had researched the matter, and confirmed with Phlox, that such behavior was virtually certain to shorten Trip's lifespan by a significant percentage. It was absolutely unacceptable. In fact, it had probably already inflicted some irreparable damage. He was going to start taking better care of himself, whether he wanted to or not.

_I lost my father when I was only a child, Ashayam,_ she thought fiercely. _I lost our son before I ever knew him. I lost my mother. I lost our precious daughter. You are all I have left now. I am not going to lose you, Husband._ She locked her jaws and raised her chin. Whatever was required would be done. She would cast out fear.

#

Captain Archer propped his elbow on one arm of his chair. He rested his chin on his hand and listened politely as T'Lar spoke, nodding at appropriate intervals and trying hard not to yawn. Finally T'Lar left an opening and he sprang for it.

"I certainly understand your position, Commander," he told her sympathetically. "But I sincerely hope you can understand mine. Your priority is the retrieval of your kidnapped people. Completely understandable. But we Humans need to question Raijiin concerning the data that she delivered to the Xindi. Specifically, we need to discover what happened to that data. The Xindi may have agreed to a truce, but please remember that they consist of multiple species. Both Xindi Reptilians and Insectoids are warlike in the extreme, and many of them were far from pleased with the outcome of our conflict. If members of either of those species possess the information necessary to construct that bioweapon, my people might still be in deadly danger. To me, the survival of my species takes precedence over the recovery of a small number of kidnapped Vulcans. No offense intended."

T'Lar evidently decided to fall back and regroup for the moment. She nodded solemnly but otherwise made no response to his statement, instead choosing to bring up the second matter on the table. "Regarding Subcenturion T'Riss," she began. Archer sat up and took notice at the change in topic. "While I mean no disrespect to your Dr. Phlox, I submit that it would be more logical for her to be treated by Vulcan Healers since they are available. If you do not trust our motives in this matter, I would even be willing to permit one of your security guards to accompany the subcenturion as a gesture of courtesy between our governments."

Archer smiled wryly. "I agree with you." T'Lar's mouth dropped open a centimeter for an instant, then snapped shut again. "Unfortunately my hands are tied by Starfleet regulations in this case. If it were up to me I would hand her over to you immediately..."

The briefing room door slid open and T'Pol stepped through, followed by Healer Tyvek and Lieutenant Reed. Archer waited for the newcomers to be seated before picking up the thread of the conversation again.

"Welcome, Commander, Lieutenant, Healer Tyvek. I was just telling our guests that if the choice were up to me I would gladly turn the subcenturion over to Commander T'Lar right now. I am quite willing to trust the Vulcan legal system to handle this matter. In fact, I think the Vulcan legal system might be better equipped to handle it than ours. Our courts are still struggling to establish a workable set of rules for dealing with telepathy."

"Indeed." T'Pol inclined her head. "The circumstances defining a forced meld and the punishments for such a crime have been well established on Vulcan for centuries. The punishments assigned to acting as an accessory to such a crime are also quite specific."

"Whereas under our law," Malcolm noted with disgust, "The worst that they would face is assault and battery, along with intentional infliction of emotional and psychological distress, or something like that."

"Indeed," Senek's lips quirked. "It might be difficult to prove assault and battery, since no real damage was done."

"You are mistaken," T'Pol snapped. "According to Dr. Phlox, the type of mental probing that Raijiin uses will invariably inflict neurological damage on a Human. When she attacked various members of the _Enterprise_ crew in the Expanse, every Human crew member exhibited such damage without exception. Unquestionably, Mr. Johansen is also suffering from such injuries and should be brought to our Sickbay for treatment as soon as possible."

T'Lar's face tightened. "We were not aware of this. None of us were aware of this. I am quite certain that the subcenturion was not aware of it either."

"Would it have mattered to her?" T'Pol fixed her with a laser stare.

"Commander," Tyvek broke in with his voice dripping exasperation. "The child was distraught. She is mentally ill...her judgment was impaired."

"Irrelevant," T'Pol snapped. Both Malcolm and Jonathan blinked in surprise. There was an unmistakable note of real anger in her voice. "By Earth law only two issues apply. Was the subcenturion capable of understanding that she was breaking the law? And if so, was she capable of comprehending the probable consequences of her behavior? If the answers to those two questions are yes, then she is guilty under Human law and she will face punishment."

"State of mind is often considered as a mitigating factor in sentencing under Human law," Captain Archer hastened to add, trying to smooth things over. "I'm sure that any Human court would take into consideration the abuse that Subcenturion T'Riss had recently suffered." He exchanged a warning look with T'Pol. She didn't seem very receptive. "We understand emotional motivations," he added carefully. "But by the same token, if we permitted being distraught to provide an excuse for criminal behavior, no one would ever be convicted of anything."

"Understood," T'Lar acknowledged grimly. "Your report, Healer?"

Tyvek glanced across the table at the _Enterprise_ personnel. "The Denobulan physician, Phlox, is competent. As noted in his record, his studies with the Interspecies Medical Exchange on Vulcan as well as his experience treating Commander T'Pol provide him with sufficient skills to oversee basic care for the subcenturion while she is in trance. Beyond this I will not speculate. Treating Raijiin is more problematic, as her species is unknown in this part of space."

"Doctor Phlox's competence meets or exceeds the standards of most Vulcan Healers," T'Pol stated coldly. "Based on my personal experience over the last four years, I would prefer his ministrations over that of any member of the medical profession on staff at the Academy hospital in Shi'Kahr." Senek raised both eyebrows and rubbed his nose, looking at T'Pol intently. "Further, Dr. Phlox already has more personal experience treating Raijiin than any other healer in known space, since he was responsible for her care while she was our prisoner in the Expanse."

"T'Pol." Senek did not raise his voice, nor was his tone particularly forceful. Yet something in it drew all the eyes at the table to him. "I perceive evidence of emotional involvement. Could it be possible that your extended association with Humans has affected your logic, and perhaps biased your own judgment?"

"Agent Senek," said Archer coldly. Orders to cooperate or no orders, nobody was going to march onto his ship and insult his senior officers in front of his face. "Commander T'Pol is entirely too devoted to the principles of Surak to take offense at your remark. I, however, am not." T'Lar, Reed, Tyvek and T'Pol tensed. Senek sat relaxed and listened with mild interest.

"Captain," T'Pol looked uneasy. "I believe I mentioned..."

"Yes, I know that you and Agent Senek were acquainted in the past." Archer turned to T'Lar. "Commander. I recognize that T'Pol is a fellow Vulcan. However, when a member of my crew puts on their rank insignia, no matter what their planet of origin, they put their personal lives aside for the duration of their duty hours to represent the people of Earth. If you or any person under your command has an issue with the way that a member of my crew has been doing their job, you bring it to me. Bypassing my chain of command is not appropriate, nor will it be tolerated."

"Understood, Captain Archer." T'Lar's nostrils flared, and she exchanged an unreadable look with Agent Senek before continuing. "I will therefore repeat Agent Senek's inquiry, because I have also observed evidence of emotional reactions on the part of Commander T'Pol concerning this matter. I question her ability to remain unbiased."

"May I respond, Captain?" T'Pol asked. Archer nodded. T'Pol took a deep breath. To Archer, she appeared to be struggling with some inner emotion. He couldn't tell if it was embarrassment or anger. "You are correct, Commander and Agent Senek," she admitted frankly. "This situation has in fact provoked an emotional response." Malcolm's jaw dropped open and he stared in shock, a fact that was not lost on the other Vulcans. "I was also probed by Raijiin while we were in the Expanse. Apparently the Xindi decided to obtain data on Vulcan physiology in addition to Human, for reasons of their own."

Tyvek stiffened. "You were also probed? Did you receive proper treatment? Did this Phlox scan you for damage?"

"Yes, yes, and yes," she told him with forced tolerance. "I was fortunate in that I had a meeting scheduled, and Raijiin was interrupted when Commander Tucker attacked her. Commander Tucker was less fortunate, since after dropping me she turned on him instead. As I belong to a telepathic species my natural defenses protected me somewhat. I was injured only slightly. My rescuer however, suffered significant damage."

"With all due respect," Lieutenant Reed burst out, "Considering what that woman did to us, and what else she tried to do, I think we deserve a lot of credit for not booting her out the shuttle bay in her skivvies."

"Emotional reaction or not," Archer hastily interrupted, "I have complete faith in T'Pol's professionalism. Both of you, Commander T'Lar and Agent Senek, seem to be convinced that we Humans are not capable of dealing with these prisoners in a fair and unbiased manner. I urge you to... cast out fear." His mouth quirked in ironic acknowledgment of the quotation. "T'Pol is completely worthy of your trust. She will make certain that neither of them are abused or denied their rights under the terms of the Treaty of Alliance." The four Vulcans in the room stared each other down for several seconds. It was T'Lar who finally dropped her gaze in the face of T'Pol's rigidly composed expression.

"It appears we have no choice," said the _Sehlat's_ commander in a resigned tone. T'Lar stood up and her escort followed suit. "For the present," she added.

Archer stood as well, saying to Malcolm, "Lieutenant Reed, will you show our guests to their shuttle?"

"Certainly, sir." The always proper and polite security officer gave no sign of his earlier emotional outburst as he gestured to their Vulcan visitors. "Right this way please." The entourage shuffled out, leaving the two senior officers together in the briefing room. Archer was exhausted, and even T'Pol was looking tired.

"Sit back down a minute, T'Pol," the captain gestured. "Let's cover another base or two while we're here. How are repairs coming with the Andorian ship?"

"Commander Tucker reports that external repairs are nearly complete," T'Pol told him. "He has been assisting the Andorian engineer with rebuilding the dilithium matrix and re-routing the power conduits...something to do with a modification of the Vulcan reactor in order to make it more compatible with the original Andorian configuration. He did not provide details."

"I won't ask," Archer smiled and rubbed his eyes. "I hope Trip is taking time to eat and sleep this time around."

"He is now, after being ordered to do so," T'Pol said testily. Archer snorted in amusement. It was always funny to see T'Pol in protective maternal mode. Sometimes he wondered whether she considered herself responsible for Trip's wellbeing because she was old enough, in Human terms at least, to be his mother. Other times he was pretty sure it was something else. Neither option bore thinking about too closely.

"Has the bounty been paid?"

"Confirmed," T'Pol nodded. "Authorization to draw on Starfleet accounts for value equivalent to five bars of gold pressed latinum. Payable at any Human world or trading post, collectible in cash, universal trading credits or any combination thereof."

"They will probably have to take most of it in trading credits," Archer remarked, "Unless they want to haul themselves all the way back to Earth or one of the older colonies. I doubt most Human worlds could scrounge up that much latinum on short notice."

"A Vulcan colony would honor a Starfleet account voucher," T'Pol pointed out. "They will be receiving the reward from the High Council as well."

"They will have enough to retrofit that old tub into a racer," Archer said with a touch of envy. He sighed and visibly shook it off. "I meant to ask about those torpedoes they used. That energy signature looked suspiciously familiar."

"They were obsolete Starfleet issue," T'Pol confirmed. "Part of the surplus that was earmarked for distribution to the Boomer fleet."

"Hm," Captain Archer rubbed his chin. "Johansen's a Boomer. I think the least we can do is replace their torpedoes. Have Malcolm see what he can do."

T'Pol hesitated. "Are you quite sure, Captain? They are..."

"I know they're Andorians, T'Pol," he said, sighing. Then he smiled. "They gave us Raijiin. Give them back their torpedoes. On my authority. And while we're at it, have Malcolm look over their phase cannon. See if it needs any tweaking or upgrading."

"Yes, sir."

#

Trip always closed his eyes when transporting. It didn't help much; nothing did. But it sure didn't hurt anything. The cold air bit his hands and face, telling him that they were on _Lerteiran_.

"Brr," Malcolm hissed, rubbing his arms. "Let's get out of here while we can still move." They raced for the cargo bay hatch and practically jumped through. The access way on the other side wasn't exactly warm either, but it was a serious improvement over the storage area. Insulated winter uniforms helped a lot, everywhere except fingers and ears. And cheeks of course. And noses. And lips and chin. And teeth if you breathed too fast.

"This way," Trip chattered, pointing with a shaking finger. They shivered their way along the corridor toward the engine room and he added, "She keeps it colder down here because it's more efficient for the engines and the main computer. You'll start to adjust in a few minutes."

"Adjust." Malcolm gave him a look that called him a liar. "Really."

Their footsteps echoed as usual, and Trip was not surprised to find Sehlra watching expectantly when they emerged into the engine room. "Welcome back, boy," she boomed across the metal lined mini-cavern. "This your sharp-shooter?"

"Yep," Trip turned and said, "Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, this is Sehlra. She doesn't like titles."

"In that case, ma'am, the name is Malcolm." Reed gave his most winsome smile and offered his hand.

"Malcolm?" Sehlra took his hand in a vise grip and crunched it, grinning widely. "Means "deep crack in the ice" in my language. But who cares? I heard you took out those two Nausican's slick and fast, and that's what counts. Welcome aboard, boy."

"Thank you, ma'am," Malcolm replied in a voice perhaps half an octave higher than before. He surreptitiously tried to work some feeling back into his hand while Sehlra turned to Trip.

"So why do you need to muck around with the targeting array anyway?" she wanted to know.

Trip explained, "We don't have any duplicates of the torpedoes you were carrying. They're too old. What we're going to do is give you some of the new ones we have, with standard warheads retrofitted onto them. That's Malcolm's job," he tilted his head toward Reed, who straightened to attention and flashed a bright smile. "They have a more sophisticated guidance system and faster drives. So you need better sensors to control them. Plus the cap'n told us to look at your phase cannon and see if there was anything that we could offer you in the way of upgrades."

"I'm starting to like that captain of yours," Sehlra grinned.

"We owe ya," Trip sobered. "I owe ya, personally. Raijiin nailed me too, just like she did Daniel. She did the same thing to a lot of us on _Enterprise_. Getting her back was personal for us. Anything we can do to help you folks out, name it. You got it."

Sehlra's grin became a snarl. "It was our pleasure, boy. Believe it."

"Speaking of which," Trip said, "I need to talk to Daniel about something. Is he handy?"

"He's in the control room," Sehlra told them. "Why? What do you need him for?"

Trip just kept walking in the direction of the control room. Sehlra's arm shot out, strong arming him to a stop.

Trip didn't meet her eyes. "I just need- acgk!"

She'd grabbed the nearest convenient handhold to keep him there. It was interfering with his breathing just a bit. Trip's heels lightened but did not quite leave the floor as Sehlra's fingers tightened around his neck. Malcolm started forward but halted before he completed the first step when Sehlra turned her head and glared. She caught Trip's flailing right hand in her left and started bending his two smallest fingers backward. Trip's left hand grabbed her fist and made a valiant but futile effort to pry it off his windpipe.

She said calmly. "I have been around Daniel enough to know when a Human is dodging a question. Now, you are going to tell me why you want to see Daniel, or I am going to break every finger on both hands. Deal?" Trip managed a tiny nod. Sehlra slowly let him back down on the floor and released his throat, looking at him expectantly.

Trip sucked in some deep breaths and rubbed his throat. Then he smiled hopefully at her. Maybe if he told her the right way she wouldn't go ballistic on him."I just didn't want to upset you any more than you already were," he told her sincerely. "He needs to see Phlox. Raijiin's probing damages Human neural pathways. Doctor Phlox can give him some medicine to fix it."

"Why in the name of the Great Mother didn't you say so!" Sehlra exclaimed. Then she turned and sped for the ladder. Trip looked at Malcolm and shrugged. The two men followed at a cautious distance.

When they emerged from the access well Daniel was gesturing with both hands and making soothing noises. "All right, Sehlra. I promise. I swear. I will go to see that doctor on _Enterprise_ as soon as my shift is done. I don't like being sick, believe me." Jenrali stood propped against the pilot's console, watching the pair of them while Sehlra lectured Daniel with her hands on her hips.

"There's no reason you can't go now," she insisted. "These repairs will keep."

"It's not that urgent," Daniel insisted. "I feel all right. Just a headache. I'll be fine until the end of my shift."

"I didn't get treated for a few days," Trip offered. "It took that long for the symptoms to get bad enough for me to go to Phlox." The three of them turned to notice the new arrivals. Trip flushed at the calculating gaze from the two Andorians. They made him feel like one of Chef's chickens being evaluated for dumplings versus roasting.

Malcolm added helpfully, "Doctor Phlox told us that it would take several weeks before the damage becomes permanent. And it wouldn't kill you even then, just continue progressively getting worse until you become a drooling cretin."

Daniel grimaced. "I will definitely go see Dr. Phlox as soon as my shift is over. My word of honor. Okay?"

Sehlra glared at him. Finally she nodded grudgingly and turned back to the ladder. "It would have been so simple," she muttered as she started back down. The sound of her footsteps echoed up the ladder well, along with the words, "...strapped down right there. Right in front of us. And the other one chained to a chair. So simple..."

The men looked at each other, shrugged, and went into a huddle. Jenrali decided to take Malcolm into the forward crawlspace for a hands-on look at the phase cannon mount and a visual inspection of the power couplings. Meanwhile, Trip and Daniel were assigned the task of upgrading the sensor array.

"If Trip offers to make any 'improvements' in the standard configuration," Malcolm advised firmly, "refuse him permission. I made that mistake on our shakedown voyage and I am still regretting it."

"Hey!" Trip protested. "The new targeting scanners are 30% more efficient than the stock equipment."

"They _are_ 30% more efficient," Malcolm admitted, "during the 50% of the time that they're working properly. The other 50% of the time I'm flat on my back under the console recalibrating and adjusting them. Trust me Daniel, this mad scientist will lead you astray. Stick with the tried and true."

"Go hug your cannon and leave us alone," Trip snorted in disgust and turned his back in a marked manner, prying the cover off the fire control console with an air of wounded dignity. Malcolm grinned and followed Jenrali down the ladder.

"Yeowch," Trip was halfway under Daniel's console, staring up at the remains. "That Orion did a number on you guys, didn't he?"

"A case could be made for that statement," Daniel told him with wry humor. He described how they had routed the remaining torpedo guidance system through the sensor controls and manually steered it into Grigor-Tel's ship. "It was the only option we had left," he finished. "We were just lucky that he was as crippled as we were."

"I don't think luck had much to do with it," Trip said as he started peeling charred conduit out from under the panel. "Somebody once said that luck comes to those who are ready for it, or something like that. He was crippled because you caught him and nailed his ass."

"Thanks," Daniel grinned. "That makes me feel a little better about having to rebuild the entire array from scratch."

"Speaking of which," Trip said idly, scraping the fused chunks of a module off the side of the casing, "How did you locate the Orion? The way the cap'n was talking, the course you took seemed like almost a straight line right to him. Did you know where he was going all along?"

"No," Daniel told him while sorting through the new modules and stacking them in sequential order. "T'Riss could feel him through their mating bond," he replied casually.

"Say WHAT!" Trip rose up convulsively to give Daniel a startled look, and rammed his head into the main board with a sickening thud. "Ow!" He flopped back down and grabbed his forehead. A trickle of blood leaked out between his fingers.

"Hold still a sec," Daniel told him hastily. "Lemme get the first aid kit." He rummaged through the pile of junk on the bridge while Trip tried to shake off his newly developing headache and his surprise at the Boomer's revelation. Daniel soon found what he was looking for, quickly wiped off the scrape and slapped on a bandage. "There you go, good as new," he said, grinning wryly.

"Thanks," Trip told him sheepishly. "Now what were you saying about a mating bond? Did I hear you right?"

Daniel shrugged. "Yeah. It's a telepathic bond that Vulcans form between mates." He looked uncomfortable. "You see, Grigor-Tel had kept T'Riss for his personal concubine. Since it was just the two of them, after a while a bond formed. So she could track him."

"Oh man..." Trip looked sick. "Oh, shit. Oh, that poor girl."

"Well, yeah." Daniel looked even less comfortable. "I hadn't really taken time to think it through. But I guess it would've been pretty rough on her."

"Rough? Rough? I don't even wanna think about it," Trip replied with a grimace. "But I can't keep from thinking about it, and it makes my stomach churn. The guy rapes her, over and over and over and over..."

"Yeah, I get the idea," Daniel interrupted queasily.

"And all the while she's stuck inside his head," Trip persisted, unable to shake the image. It was just too close to home. "Feeling what he feels, hearing his thoughts, listening to him while he laughs it up over what he's doing to her...feeling him enjoying her pain and humiliation. Man, oh man..." Trip's voice trailed off, but his expression was haunted.

Daniel grimaced and turned his head. "Could we please change the subject?"

Trip gave him a sickly half- smile. "No problem," he said emphatically. They worked side by side for several seconds in silence before either of them could come up with another topic of conversation.

"Talking about Vulcans," offered Trip, "It sounded like you've been around Vulcans before. You spoke of mating bonds like they were familiar to you."

"Kind of familiar," Daniel said casually. "I spent some time on Vulcan during secondary school as an exchange student. Went back after I graduated to work in the shipyards for a year until I got my first berth on a ship."

Trip shot him a curious look but decided to mind his own business. He chose a neutral topic instead. "I didn't know Vulcans hired off worlders to work in their shipyards."

"They don't, usually," Daniel told him. "The family I stayed with as an exchange student owns a piece of a ship building company. They got me a job." He smiled. "We still keep in touch. They're good people." He looked at Trip. "Anyway, that's how I learned about mating bonds. Stern, the eldest son of the House, and I were talking one day and he told me that married couples aren't really considered married until the mating bond is formed."

"Do tell," Trip said, suddenly coming to attention. "Are you saying that this T'Riss girl would have been married to that Orion because they had a mating bond?" he asked intently.

Daniel stopped with his mouth open, looking nonplussed by the question. "Honestly? I don't really know." He thought hard. "Ordinarily, according to what Stern told me, if a mating bond has formed then a couple is automatically considered married under Vulcan law, even if no ceremony has been conducted. But in a case of rape I don't know. The law is so old... I know it predates the Reformation of Surak by thousands of years." He raised his eyebrows. "But since he's dead now it's a moot point. Come on, how about we get these things sorted and then grab some lunch?"

"Sounds good to me," Trip told him distractedly, with his mind on other things as he got back to work. "But I'm afraid I'll need to head back to _Enterprise_ for lunch. I have a lunch date that I really don't want to miss." _Not today I don't_, he thought with determination. It was time to get some answers. _Today, lunch is gonna be very interesting... since I'll be having lunch with my wife._

#

Raijiin opened her eyes in the dimly lit chamber. The first thing she noticed was the silence, both mental and physical. Aboard _Lertieran_, there had been the almost undetectable hum of the active minds immediately surrounding her, and the constant thrum of the newly revamped warp engines vibrating deck plates and other structural members slightly past their prime. She was obvious no longer aboard the old freighter. Then she noticed that her ears, nose and fingertips were numb. She raised her hands to her face. Surprisingly, her fingers were coated in synthskin dressings. She'd seen the flexible pain relieving adhesive dressing material used before on wealthier clients at Natolya's, the ones who enjoyed receiving pain the old fashioned way rather than by neurostim but preferred not to have the scars to remind them of it, but she'd never been the recipient of it before. In Natolya's opinion it was much too expensive to be wasted on a slave.

Raijiin gazed down at herself. She was still dressed in the coverall from the _Sehlat_, and she was grimy beyond belief after her ordeal in the cargo bay. Despite that fact, she actually felt well-and hungry. She sat up in bed. It was a single military-style bunk with a twin on the opposite side of the chamber. On one end of the small room was an airlock. The opposite end led to another small chamber which, on further inspection, proved to be a fully functional bathroom with a genuine water shower. _So...not an escape pod_, she thought as she took full advantage of the facilities. The mirror in the bathroom revealed synthskin dressings on her nose and ears as well. Waterproof and impregnated with growth factors from cloned skin cells to enhance healing, they would remain for several days, only peeling off once the new skin beneath them was intact. She smiled. Maybe scarring wasn't inevitable after all.

Exiting the bathroom with a towel wrapped around her hair and another around her body, feeling greatly relieved, she then searched the room for a food source. Wherever she was, she appeared to be aboard a ship or space station with significant resources. A more complete examination of her surroundings revealed a video pickup in the sleeping chamber. It looked non-functional, or at least it wasn't panning the room. A microphone was installed next to a sealed window in the airlock door. She smiled triumphantly when she discovered a drawer within the airlock door which, when opened, discharged a mealpak which was self-heating. She didn't recognize the food, but some of it was meat. It took her about five minutes to inhale the first solid food she'd had in three days, and about five minutes and five seconds to realize where she must be. The food was prepacked with meat in it, so she wasn't on a Vulcan vessel. It was completely unfamiliar, so it wasn't Orion. And the label on it, which said "Meal, Ready to Eat: Beef tips with carrots and potatoes", was in English.

She was aboard a Human vessel-and the only one she knew of in Syndicate space was the _Enterprise_. Her smile vanished at this realization, and the food she'd just eaten settled in a lump in the center of her chest, threatening to come back up again. She jumped when the speaker next to the airlock crackled to life.

"_This is Commander T'Pol. Your biosigns indicate that you are awake and medically stable. As you are probably aware by now, you are in custody aboard __**Enterprise**__. You will acknowledge your understanding of my statements aloud for the audio record, as the video pickups in your holding area have been deactivated for safety reasons,"_ stated a remotely familiar voice dispassionately. Raijiin's heart sank. She'd hoped for a Vulcan to save her, but this one wouldn't be of any help.

"I understand," she replied in a defeated tone.

"_You have rights under Earth law of which I will now inform you,"_ continued the voice. _"You have the right to remain silent, meaning that you are not obligated to answer any questions or make any statements to which you do not freely consent. If you choose to give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you. You also have the right to be represented by counsel. If you desire counsel but cannot arrange for counsel on your own behalf, someone will be appointed to act for you. Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?"_

The cool, emotionless delivery of this information belied the traces of mental turmoil Raijiin was now able to detect through the walls of the chamber which confined her. Being a telepath, the Vulcan was more accessible to her skills than a Human would have been. Evidently, it had not occurred to her captors that this would be the case, otherwise they certainly would not have sent the only Vulcan on board to deal with her. The traces of mental contact were insufficient to be significantly useful to her, but they did give her a minute advantage, in that she could tell how close T'Pol was to an embarrassing lack of emotional control, and so she was able to respond appropriately.

"I understand," said Raijiin again, very calmly. Her tone was soothing, as if she were trying to reassure a frightened child. It did very little to calm the Vulcan. Raijiin really couldn't blame her. Being telepathically assaulted without warning was an unpleasant experience. She understood that, and sympathized even though she'd been the source of the Starfleet officer's trauma.

"_Do you desire counsel?"_ asked the Vulcan tersely.

The question surprised Raijiin. She'd assumed the recitation of "rights" was merely a formality. Perhaps she should put these so-called rights to the test.

"Yes," she responded firmly. "I choose Commander T'Lar or her designated representative."

There was silence from the Vulcan for several seconds. _"Very well,"_ she responded finally. _"I will convey your request at the earliest opportunity."_

Dead silence followed. Despite the fact that she could still sense the Vulcan's morbid curiosity through the wall of the chamber, after several minutes Raijiin began to fear that her chance to explain herself was gone, and that now that the formalities had been taken care of, the torture could begin. She could see only one way to prevent it, if only they would believe her.

"Commander? I think I'd like to make a statement," she said hesitantly. Curiosity changed to surprise.

"_You are waiving your rights?"_ asked T'Pol in a puzzled tone.

"I'd rather do this now, and get it over with," Raijiin admitted truthfully. She desperately needed at least one person on board _Enterprise_ to at least understand her position, if not sympathize. A Vulcan seemed the best choice for an ally, given her alternatives. All she needed was to be trusted, just for a moment.

"_Very well,"_ responded the commander. _"You may begin."_

Raijiin closed her eyes, attempting to project the proper amount of sincerity. "I've never told anyone this because I didn't think anyone would believe me," she began in a pitiful voice. "My Xindi master didn't sell me. I was slated to be executed, and the Xindi Insectoid assigned to the task decided he'd rather make some credits instead, so he sold me to a Nausican." There was silence from the opposite side of the wall, and a begrudging sympathy as she related her plight. "My Xindi Reptilian master was going to dispose of me because I was no longer of any use to him. You see, I sabotaged my implanted bioscanner and convinced him that something had happened to it on your vessel. I told him that I was unable to give him any information regarding either Humans or Vulcans because I had none to give, and so he fabricated data and presented it to the Xindi council. The Xindi were never in possession of accurate bioscans." A delay followed her declaration, and then, to her disappointment, T'Pol's frank disbelief came through quite clearly.

"_I don't believe you,"_ replied T'Pol flatly. _"There was no logical reason for you to have done such a thing."_

"Is it so hard to believe that I could decide to die rather than assist with genocide?" pleaded Raijiin, but the Vulcan had closed her mind to the possibility.

"_Yes,"_ retorted T'Pol. _"You are completely self-centered and without remorse."_ The faint trace of sympathy was gone now, replaced by angry denial.

"If I could meld with you, you'd see that I'm telling the truth," responded Raijiin sulkily.

The Starfleet commander obviously didn't consider the notion even remotely worth considering. _"Your statement has been recorded, and I will convey your request for counsel to the Sehlat. You may use the internal comm link to contact the doctor should you require anything."_ Raijiin could sense her consciousness retreating. She was really gone this time.

Tears welled, but Raijiin fought them. The total silence, both physical and mental, was like starvation. She felt thirsty for the thoughts and emotions of others. Being all alone in this holding cell was going to drive her insane. She needed contact with other beings. Alone, she died inside, as if lacking some essential nourishment of the spirit. She wallowed in self pity for about three seconds, and then started making plans to escape.

#

Trip strode into the mess hall like a man on a mission-a mission he'd been forced to undertake but wasn't particularly looking forward to. His eyes found their usual table. T'Pol wasn't there yet. He checked the clock on the wall.

_Damn. I'm five minutes early._

He exhaled and closed his eyes in relief for a second before going to collect his food and a drink. It was strange how a five minute reprieve brought back his appetite.

He sat down at the table and took a bite of his roast beef sandwich, musing over what he was going to tell her, and over what he was going to demand that she tell him. T'Pol would probably expect him to be angry, and he was angry -and hurt, and afraid, and just downright confused.

_If she knew we were married from the beginning, why did she do... well... everything? The marriage to Koss... allowing me to leave for Columbia... pushing me away at every possible opportunity? And even now... what's she ashamed of?_ He swallowed and took another meditative bite. Then he stopped chewing, blinking in surprise. _Maybe she's just afraid._ The idea occurred to him out of the blue, but it felt right somehow.

He sensed T'Pol's presence, looked up, and caught her eye as she walked through the door with a businesslike near-scowl on her face. He could sense her disquiet from where he was sitting. She barely acknowledged his presence before she turned to collect a vegetarian plate and a mug of tea from the dispensers.

_Ouch. Not a good morning._

He winced mentally over the idea of confronting her with their relationship in addition to her duties as principal liaison officer between the prisoners, _Enterprise_, and the Vulcans, but it couldn't be helped. He was tired of beating around the bush.

She reached the table and sat down with her tray, gazing at him with a resigned expression. "You have injured yourself again," she told him in mild disapproval, indicating his forehead with a gesture.

"What?" he asked, puzzled, and brought one hand to his head, only then remembering the bandage and the cut he'd forgotten about.

"Oh...that," he shrugged nonchalantly. "That's nothing. Just a scratch." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Rough day at the office?" he quipped, quickly changing the subject. Might as well get her current issues out of the way so they could move on. She would, however, have none of it.

"You do not take adequate care of yourself," she chided him. "It would be a tremendous loss if you should develop an overwhelming infection and die prematurely as the result of one of your neglected 'scratches'," she countered, spearing a celery stalk with her fork and taking a crisp bite in punctuation of her observation.

For some reason, her expression of concern just made him angry. "A loss to you... or just to Starfleet?" he retorted sharply.

She raised a brow at him, chewing. He waited, still upset. She swallowed. "Both, of course," she answered calmly, raising her fork for another bite.

He blinked. She'd just admitted-in public and within earshot of anyone who happened to pass by-that she'd miss him if he were gone. That was more than she'd done since their relationship had begun, but it wasn't enough. He opened his mouth to demand more, but she'd already moved on with the conversation.

"Did you speak with Mr. Johansen? If he's anything like you we might have to arrest him in order to get him into Sickbay for treatment," she said dryly.

Trip took another bite of his sandwich to prevent himself from just yelling at her right then and there. This was gonna have to be done delicately to prevent a public scene, he could tell that already. He managed to choke the bite down, chased it down with root beer, and then answered her.

"He plans to come over this evening at the end of his shift," Trip began. Then it occurred to him that some of her troubles that day were probably due to a lack of information that he could now provide, and in the meantime introduce his main topic of conversation. "We had a long talk about T'Riss while we were makin' repairs," he continued innocently. "Did you know they found Grigor-Tel because T'Riss was bonded to him?"

T'Pol did an honest-to-goodness spit-take with her chamomile tea and stared at him in horror. "A mating bond?" she choked softly, her eyes scanning their surroundings for eavesdroppers. No one seemed to be paying any attention. He nodded wordlessly. He couldn't tell whether the overwhelming feeling of disgust and nausea was coming from her or from him. Probably both. They both pushed their plates away, staring at each other in reflected revulsion.

He pushed hers back toward her. "Eat it. You eat little enough as it is," he instructed her firmly. Obediently, she blindly stabbed with her fork and took a bite without looking at its contents. "The bond was the result of rape?" she murmured between bites.

"Multiple times," replied Trip softly, "And no one believed her. _Sehlat_'s healer still doesn't."

T'Pol's eyes met his, wide with realization, "And so she did what she had to do to end it, even if it meant the end of her career...or even of her life. There was no other way to free herself if the healer didn't believe her."

"So if he did believe her, she had another option?" Trip asked, puzzled.

T'Pol nodded, loading her fork with beans and rice. "A healer trained in healing melds can sever a bond which is the result of pathologic behavior. Tyvek knows this. All he had to do was to reassure her that she would receive care when the melder arrived." She began to eat again in earnest. To Trip's relief, her appetite seemed to be returning. He looked down at the remainder of his sandwich and picked it up. He wasn't hungry after the news she'd just delivered about severing bonds, but his body needed fuel nonetheless.

"I guess she didn't want to wait," he said succinctly before shoving the rest of his sandwich into his mouth. He watched T'Pol eat as he chewed. There was a melder-healer on board the Vulcan medical vessel. Did she plan to sever their bond? It made sense. Maybe that's why she didn't want to tell anyone. Even if they were married, maybe they weren't going to be for much longer. And maybe she'd never planned to tell him a thing about it. The idea just fueled his anger.

T'Pol finally finished her meal. He swallowed-and steeled himself.

"Guess I can't really blame her," he said harshly. "It must really suck to be married to someone without your consent."

T'Pol's eyes widened over her tea mug. Her expression was deliberately blank, but her chest heaved with the effort of taking a shaky breath.

Trip's lips twisted wryly. "But I guess you know all about that already, don't you... wife?" he continued softly and with deliberate cruelty. Emotion swelled suddenly within him, and it definitely wasn't coming from him. T'Pol put her mug down carefully and, avoiding his gaze, rose from the table without a word-without a backward glance -and walked briskly from the dining hall. Her back was straight. She looked for all the world as if she had pressing ship's business elsewhere, but the emotion he felt from her was fear-stark, mind-altering, gut-twisting, abject terror. He stared after her for a second or two, and then rose in pursuit of his mate.

#

_He knows. HE KNOWS!_

Her thoughts raced, filled with one thing only. She was about to lose him. And then she would die.

She walked as quickly as propriety would allow, as if there were a core breech imminent in Engineering, as if a tactical alert siren reverberated down the corridors. She could sense him following, but she made it to the turbolift before he did. This was not something they could discuss in public. It would mean the end of both of their careers. And she had no desire to fall apart in public when he refused her.

As soon as she exited the lift, she broke into a run, heedless of who might catch her at it, intent on the relative safety of her quarters. She'd lock herself in and not come out until the melder-healer came to free her of this... indiscretion. That was it. Once the bond was severed, these emotions would leave her. They had to. The fear, the overwhelming need, the vulnerability, all of it would be gone.

She reached her quarters, slapped the door open and locked it, resting, panting from exertion, with her back against the door. She closed her eyes, willing herself to become calm.

_He knows. It's all over now. I've lost him._

Despair almost gained the upper hand. It had been tempting, their time together, but humans were not meant to mate for life. It was a dream which had never been attainable.

_But I CAN survive this. I MUST survive this. Starfleet depends on me. Enterprise depends on me. I CANNOT fall apart._

The entry tone sounded, making her jump. She was beginning to realize that no amount of meditation was going to calm her today, but she ignored the tone with forced serenity, proceeding to the center of the room to seat herself before the meditation candle on the floor, lighting it. She could sense his presence through the door. She knew it was Trip, and he was furious, she was certain. It must just be a quirk of distance and the bond that made his concern for her well-being paramount in the welter of emotions she could sense.

After a moment and several entry tones, his presence faded, leaving her distantly disappointed. He hadn't even shouted at her, demanding to come in, the way she'd expected. In fact, he'd made no public display at all other than to stand at her door, repeatedly pressing the bell.

Five minutes later, the comm sounded. She rose to answer it, thinking that it was probably ship's business. She was wrong.

"T'Pol here."

"_It's me. I'm in my cabin, so we're private."_ Trip's voice was subdued. _"Please don't cut me off."_

She could sense very little from him; the distance was too great, but he didn't sound angry.

"_Listen, T'Pol... we really need to talk,"_ he pleaded. _"I'm sorry I ambushed you like that in public. I shouldn't have. I won't do it again. I promise,_" he told her sincerely. _"Just let me in so we can talk, okay?"_

He paused and waited, but she couldn't find the words to answer him. She just wasn't ready for it all to end yet. Panic overwhelmed her. Maybe if she didn't talk to him, they could stay connected for just a little while longer.

"I'm not ready yet," she whispered, mainly to herself. She felt the moisture building in her eyes, but she refused to cry. He ignored her.

"_I'm coming back now, and I want you to let me in. If you don't, I'm gonna go get Phlox, because I'm worried about you. This isn't normal, what you're doing. You're not acting like yourself."_

'_Not acting like myself'_, she thought numbly. _How should I be acting?_ She realized suddenly that she had no idea. She'd never been completely without Trip since the trellium had damaged her emotionally. She wasn't the same. She'd never be the same, and only with his stabilizing influence could she hope to present even a facsimile of what she had been before. She needed him, and now she was losing him, and then she would die.

She stood leaning against the wall, listening to the silence on the other end of the comm until the entry bell sounded again.

"Commander! It's Commander Tucker. I've got the reports on the repairs to the _Lerteiran_ that you requested!" came Trip's earnest voice from the other side of the door. He sounded tired.

So she turned and let him in.

#

She looked lost, like a whipped puppy. Her eyes were so wide they seemed luminous in the dimly lit room. He followed her in silently, now more curious than angry. What the hell was going on here? What could she possibly be so afraid of? He had no clue, so he did the only thing he could think of. He asked her.

"What's goin' on, T'Pol? You're scared shitless over something, but I can't for the life of me figure out what it is. Talk to me." His voice was gentle. He followed her to the floor and sat opposite the meditation candle, facing her as she stared at him with a perplexed expression, as if he'd grown another head or something.

"You're not angry?" she asked him.

He chuckled bitterly. "Angry? Hell, yeah... I'm angry!" he told her emphatically. "I'm also in love with you, T'Pol... and evidently your husband now for... what... at least a year? I think I deserve to be angry! Why the hell didn't you tell me? What the hell were you thinkin', puttin' us through all this shit?" His accent grew heavier when he was upset. He normally tried to control it, but he wasn't bothering with it now.

She winced, refusing to meet his eyes. "At first I didn't know," she admitted. "There were... complications that prevented me from discovering the true nature of our connection until after I had already married Koss."

"Complications?" he repeated, puzzled.

"Medical complications," she clarified, still staring at the candle in front of her.

"Explain," he told her, sounding to his own ears almost Vulcan in his brevity. She looked up, finally. He waited.

"The Expanse challenged my preconceptions," she began, rather evasively he thought. "I felt things I'd never felt before." Her eyes strayed again, this time to the bulkhead behind him, and to her bunk, waiting neatly made but empty, a reminder of pleasures past. "Perhaps it was being estranged from my people... perhaps it was the company..." Her eyes darted to his again and then retreated. "But I found myself wanting... more..."

"More?" he repeated softly. His memories of the night when they'd first been intimate were clear, burned into his memory as if branded there.

"And then I found trellium-D," she whispered, eyes averted.

"The poison? The stuff that transformed the crew of the _Seleya_?" he asked in a perplexed tone. She nodded, her eyes glistening.

"In small amounts, it helped me... feel..." Her gaze shifted. It was shame. He could feel it fill the room almost palpably. "But it was addicting. It...damaged...me," she admitted.

He sat across from her, trying to absorb what she was saying. The significance of it was like a punch in the gut. She still wouldn't look at him.

"So, that night in the Expanse when we...you were...high on trellium-D?" he ventured, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. No wonder she didn't want to tell anyone. It was all a mistake-an awful, humiliating error in judgment.

She began shaking her head, and finally met his eyes. There was sincerity there amidst the fear. "No...oh, no." she told him earnestly. "It had been days since my last dose. When I was with you, I didn't need it. You're better than..." Her eyes cut away again. She took a steadying breath and closed them. "But I have no doubt that had I not been using, I would have been able to control my feelings with meditation, and not...acted on them."

"I'm better than a poisonous drug," he said flatly, still numb from what she had just told him. "How flattering." He blew out a heavy breath, studying her with as much dispassion as he could manage. For the moment, his emotions took a back seat to figuring out the mystery of her odd behavior.

"How long did you use? Were you on it at Azati Prime?" he asked, point blank and disapproving. Her pained expression was his answer. It was the last straw.

"How the HELL could you have remained in command? Didn't you realize how much damage you could have done getting high on duty?" he demanded, springing to his feet. Her eyes shone with unshed tears.

"I tried to stop. I went to Doctor Phlox," she told him. "He was helping me...but you were rebuilding the ship, and the captain was gone...and there was no one else." Her tone was deadpan despite the pleading nature of her words. She sounded as if she'd gone over the justification for her actions so many times in her head that they were rote by now, and she still didn't believe them. Neither did Trip.

"Bullshit! You had no business in that command chair. Both you and Phlox knew that! What the hell was he thinking?" he demanded. She met his eyes again. The fear was overwhelming. He turned and stalked over to stare out the viewport.

"He said I was the only option. He said he'd keep it quiet for everyone's sake as long as I never use again...and I haven't," she whispered, and Trip suddenly realized what she'd been afraid of.

"You were afraid to tell me," he said grimly. He turned to look back and her, and she looked away again. It made him angrier. "You thought I'd report it and ruin your precious career, didn't you?" He tried to follow her gaze, to get her to meet his eyes. "Look at me, dammit!" Now, the anger that he fought to control was starting to build in his voice.

T'Pol flinched, and then she looked at him. The whipped puppy eyes were back.

"You couldn't trust me to believe that you'd never use again, so you decided not to tell me, and you couldn't explain why you married Koss despite our bond without telling me about the trellium." His voice caught suddenly as he looked into her hopeless face. Unshed tears were on the verge of spilling from her eyes. He sighed and shook his head. "How long has it been since you last used?" he asked in a gentler tone.

She blinked, as if she were startled by his mildness. "About two weeks before we... lost Elizabeth," she admitted.

"And do you plan to use again?" he persisted.

Her expression became overtly perplexed. "Of course not," she replied, as if the answer were self-evident. "When I am with you I have no need of it. I...feel."

Her statement hit him like a ton of bricks. So he was a substitute for this drug? He went over her statements about her feelings in the Expanse in his mind.

Or maybe, if he could believe her-the drug was her unsuccessful attempt to find something she'd managed to find only with him.

Trip ran a hand through his hair and shook his head. "You didn't trust me. That really hurts, T'Pol." He heard his own voice catch and coughed to disguise it.

"I'm sorry," she whispered hopelessly, and bowed her head. She looked as if she'd given up. He studied her for several seconds.

"If I promise, like Phlox did, not to tell anyone as long as you don't use again, will you stop all these lies and crazy behavior?" he asked. She closed her eyes in obvious relief, nodding wordlessly.

They said nothing for a time. He let her recover. She seemed to be doing well, meditating with her eyes fixed on the candle between them. He studied her expression. She was calm. No tears were in evidence. But she was still terrified. It made no sense. He'd promised not to tell.

"What do you feel, T'Pol, when you're with me? Tell me," he said finally.

Her eyes widened, and she met his gaze with a guilty expression. _Ah. There's something else,_ he thought. It figured. Nothing could be simple with this woman. She was staring at the bulkhead again.

"Belonging...," she began quietly. That she would place this feeling first surprised him. "Protectiveness." She looked at him then. "Pride and possessiveness." Her pupils were dilated. "Desire." Her voice shook just a fraction. He could feel the corresponding emotions welling in the space between them, and his body responded almost painfully.

_Down, boy!_ he reminded himself, and kept his attention focused on the task at hand.

"Need," T'Pol continued. She licked her lips, hesitated, then whispered, "Fear..."

He interrupted her. "Why fear? What are you afraid of?" he asked, feeling as if he'd finally gotten to the root of the problem. She looked away again. It was so frustrating. Why couldn't the woman just look him in the eye and say what she meant?

"I have done extensive research in Human mating patterns," she told him. He grinned wryly. Now this was the T'Pol he knew. "Humans do not mate for life as Vulcans do," she continued, a bit shakily. "I have therefore been expecting...trying to prepare myself..." her voice actually broke at that. And then the realization hit him.

She'd been expecting him to leave.

She'd given herself over to alien emotion, separated herself from her own people, divorced the only Vulcan male willing to wed her, and all along she'd been certain that her relationship with him was a temporary thing, that he would eventually leave her. Her words over the comm just before he'd entered her room to have this talk took on a new meaning then.

"I'm not ready yet," she'd said.

She was afraid to lose him.

He blinked at her as she attempted to express herself in words, and realized that words were not enough. There was no way to reassure her in a way that she would believe, and as long as she had such a deathly fear of his imminent departure, there could be no trust between them.

"You see, it's entirely logical to assume that any relationship between us would by necessity be temporary, considering the usual Human cultural patterns...," she continued in a reasonable tone, obviously attempting to rationalize the behavior she expected of him.

Trip extended a hand to her where she sat on the floor. "Get up," he said abruptly. She stopped her spiel and stared up at him with a startled expression. Then she grasped his hand and rose with smooth grace from the floor. He led her to the desk chair. "Sit," he said. Once again, she obeyed without a word. He kept his expression stern, but inwardly he was amused. She must still be in a state of shock after their heart to heart discussion, or maybe just too frazzled to argue. That was three times today, if he counted their meal in the mess hall. She'd never obeyed him without question before in all their time together.

He activated the console and brought up Earth's cultural database, talking as he did so. "I want you to read this. Study it well. If I say it, I'm gonna mean it, and I'll expect you to mean it, too." He did a brief search while she watched in perplexed silence. "When you're ready, we can do it privately, just for the two of us, or publicly if you'd rather. Or we can call the melder-healer and take care of it the other way. It's up to you. I'm tired of dealing with this shit. It's time to take care of business. Call me when you decide."

He turned, mentally crossing his fingers and desperately hoping that this cold-blooded, unromantic approach was the correct one to take with a logical but completely panicked Vulcan, and left the room, leaving her staring with a stunned expression at a document on the screen entitled "Christian Wedding Vows - Traditional".

#

Senek stood silently and solemnly before the entrance to the isolation chamber while _Enterprise_'s Chief of Security examined his credentials. Although hastily assembled, they were nonetheless quite legal and constituted verifiable proof of his status as a Security Directorate advocate for the accused. He felt inadequately dressed without his hooded cape, but the Vulcan uniform that he wore, courtesy of Subcommander Verlen, was more appropriate to the occasion.

The dark haired Human nodded and handed him back his padd. "It all seems in order, Agent Senek," he said briskly, then eyed Senek with concern. "But are you certain you want to go in there, sir?"

The question was actually foremost in Senek's mind at that moment. Even though he considered himself immune to female blandishments, there was always a first time for everything. His doubts, however, were not for public consumption.

"Every suspect is entitled to a face to face meeting with counsel, Lieutenant Reed," replied Senek evenly. "Are you suggesting that I deprive my client of her rights under the law?"

The Human smiled thinly. "Of course not, sir. Perish the thought," he replied. Senek recalled this security officer's remarks about Raijiin during the recent briefing. He couldn't be blamed, of course. Being Human, a certain amount of emotionalism was to be expected from him. His behavior was actually very commendable in the face of what this woman had reportedly done to his crewmates.

As Reed began the unlocking sequence to open the isolation chamber, Senek tried to prepare himself for the upcoming encounter. Although he'd seen the prisoner before, he hadn't yet been the full focus of her attention. That experience, if the ex-Orion sex slave V'Sille was to be believed, could prove to be his undoing unless he was fully prepared for the onslaught of images and emotions the alien was capable of projecting. V'Sille was female. Even in the midst of pon farr she had no interest in other females, and yet she had succumbed. Raijiin's power was more than simple sexual appeal. She projected an overwhelming attraction independent of sex, more powerful than physical desire, and he was about to walk into a room with her, by all outward appearances unprotected, and deliberately expose himself. No wonder the Human was concerned. It didn't seem like a rational thing to do.

Fortunately, the Human was not in possession of all of the facts.

Fact one was Senek's sheer cold-bloodedness. His wife T'Mar, dead now for nearly half a century as the result of an inept poisoning attempt by one of Senek's many enemies, wouldn't recognize him now as the man she'd married. During his emotional struggles in the months following her death, Senek had found the strength within himself to go on, and had very nearly attained Kolinahr. He'd been prevented from doing so not by his grief, but by the desire for revenge which he couldn't seem to overcome. Senek had eventually found his wife's murderer and disposed of him, but the tendency toward violent emotion remained. There was nothing else left. Even the pon farrs since his wife's death had been brief businesslike affairs, dealt with like any other biological necessity by a convenient appointment with a priestess at Gol. If the alien Raijiin had any success in breaking down his emotional control he'd be much more likely to kill her than to have sex with her.

And so he had no personal attachments. His parents were dead. He had no siblings. His wife had not given him any children. Even the unexpected offspring of two pon farrs ago - a son he would never have known about had the Security Directorate not had agents placed even within the hierarchy of the temple at Gol - was not his responsibility. Dedicated to the temple at birth as all such children were, the boy was apparently highly intelligent, and fortunately favored his mother in temperament. Senek received periodic reports about him, not for sentimental reasons, but because the directorate considered the relationship potentially useful. They had never met, and Senek had no interest in doing so. He did find it interesting that the boy had inherited his unusually strong melding skills.

And that brought him to fact two. He was, in all honesty and without false humility, a melder of unusual skill. Those skills had been honed over the years to serve a specific purpose, and that purpose was most emphatically not healing. He had every confidence that should the alien attempt to take control of his mind by telepathy he would be capable of defending himself. The challenge, once again, would be to do it without killing her. The Security Directorate wanted her alive and biddable. That was his mission, and he wasn't at all sure if the task was even possible.

The Human stepped aside and waved him forward. He held a phase pistol pointed into the open door but avoided eye contact with its occupant. "I'll be right out here if you need help, sir," he told Senek sympathetically. Senek nodded in acknowledgment and then stepped without hesitation into the chamber. The door clanged shut behind him as he inspected the interior of the cell. Surprisingly, it seemed quite comfortable, certainly more so than the holding cells on the _Sehlat_.

Raijiin sat on the leftward bunk. She had, to his eye, the wide-eyed and wet-lipped expression of a woman desperate for companionship. She was dressed in the same disposable garments provided to patients in every medical facility he'd ever had the misfortune to enter. They didn't flatter her, but she was still a very aesthetically appealing woman. It was only after the thought occurred to him that he realized how unusual it was for him to even notice such a thing,

"I am Senek, your assigned advocate. Are you sufficiently comfortable? Have you been fed?" he asked with bland concern, getting into character with a bit of difficulty.

With a delicate quiver of her lip and a sigh, Raijiin smiled at him. Despite all of his preparations, it had considerable impact. "Oh! Mister Senek! I'm so glad you're here!" she exclaimed. She rose to her feet and-undulated was the first word that came to mind-toward him, nearly in tears. "No one will talk to me! I've been so lonely in here. You have no idea! It's cruel!"

He watched in morbid fascination as she reached his side and proceeded to wrap herself around him like some strange species of blonde ivy. He found her ability to remain just at the verge of tears quite impressive. It made perfect sense. A woman who was just about to cry needed comforting. One who was already crying, on the other hand, was much less attractive. Few beings of any species found a running nose and swollen eyelids appealing.

"I'm afraid that the Treaty of Alliance does not provide a guarantee of pleasant company during incarceration," he told her for the benefit of the microphones in the chamber. He searched the room visually while absentmindedly stroking her shoulder, but found no illicit video equipment, so without saying another word he lifted his hands to her temples and immediately forced a meld before she had the chance to protest. She struggled briefly, but he was much stronger. There was no question of resistance. To his surprise, behind her empty-headed facade she was intelligent, dispassionate, and keenly aware of her situation. She was also furiously angry.

"_Get out of my mind this instant! You cannot do this! It is a clear violation of my rights!"_ While in his arms and under his influence, she was unable to speak or move. That didn't prevent her from objecting to his actions telepathically in the strongest possible terms. He replied in the same manner.

"_As far as the Vulcan Security Directorate is concerned, you gave up your rights when you chose to leave the custody of the __**Sehlat**__ and to participate in an unauthorized attack on a member of a species allied to Vulcan,_" he replied in grim silence. Her eyes widened, and she tried again to free herself without success.

"_I am in control. You cannot break free,_" he told her without a sound. _"You now have two choices. You may choose to voluntarily cooperate with me, or I can force you to cooperate."_

"_What do you want from me?"_ she demanded, seeming rather less intimidated than he would have expected. Unfortunately, the wording of her question brought to mind several embarrassing scenarios. It was probably the incident with T'Riss that was making him so suggestible. His pon farr was over a year away.

"_I want nothing from you,"_ he claimed without speaking. _"The Security Directorate has need of your services."_

Abruptly, she stopped struggling. Her eyes met his. For a moment she looked intrigued, and then she startled him by deliberately deepening their connection, pushing beyond the superficial meld to a deep probe. She was past his barriers before he had the chance to fortify them, and he could sense that what she found there frightened her more than anything he'd done to her thus far. She began fighting him desperately again, and before he could regain control of the meld he found the reason for her sudden panic. She'd been a slave her entire life, and had only recently come to realize that it might be possible for her to become a free woman. Being a virtual slave of the Security Directorate was not at all what she'd had in mind for what remained of her life. This was unfortunate, because she wasn't being given a choice.

"_Let me go! I won't be a slave any more! I won't..."_ Her silent mental cry was snuffed out mid-thought. Senek ended her struggles the only way he was capable of ending them, by using his unique talents. When he was done she lay limply in his arms. He lifted her dead weight easily and stepped to the bunk to lay her down. He checked a pulse.

She was alive. She was breathing. She was even conscious after a fashion, but locked in behind mental shielding so strong that not even a melder-healer could break it. The only person capable of freeing Raijiin was Senek himself, and he would do that only if ordered to do so, under the proper circumstances. Until then, the woman was effectively in a vegetative state, aware of her surroundings but completely unable to respond to them. It was an unpleasant condition to be in, but she really hadn't given him a choice. He felt slightly guilty nonetheless.

He rapped on the airlock door. "Ah... Lieutenant? There is something wrong with the prisoner!"

#

Malcolm Reed kept his phase pistol leveled and stepped back to allow Marcus, one of the two guards assigned to Sickbay security, to shut the airlock door. Only then did he lower his weapon. The first half of his official role as Security Chief-to confirm the credentials of the prisoner's advocate-was done. He stood in front of the isolation chamber waiting for the second half-escorting the advocate back where he came from-and puzzling over his gut reaction of suspicion toward Agent Senek.

The fellow was in law enforcement, after a fashion. It probably made perfect sense to the Vulcans to appoint him as advocate. Malcolm just couldn't see the man as a barrister, though. Despite his admitted affiliation with the Security Directorate, he just didn't seem the type. _Just not smarmy enough_, Malcolm decided with the trace of a smile. And then there was the fact that Raijiin would undoubtedly be so useful to the Security Directorate. Why would one of their agents be involved in attempting to help her gain her freedom? Was it mercy?

Vulcans were never merciful. Mercy wasn't logical.

Suddenly a rhythmic beeping sounding behind him. He turned to discover Doctor Phlox rushing to the isolation chamber's monitoring station with a concerned expression on his face. Before he could ask what the problem was, a muffled thumping sounded from inside the isolation chamber. Agent Senek's hesitant voice could be heard through the door.

"Ah... Lieutenant? There is something wrong with the prisoner!"

Malcolm's trouble sensor hit critical with that one. He strode forward and reached for the airlock door.

"Don't even think about opening that door, Mr. Reed!" Dr. Phlox roared. Malcolm snatched his hand back as if the door latch was a live conduit. He gazed at Phlox in fascination, never having been aware that the Denobulan was even able to roar.

Phlox hit a switch and a red light started flashing above the door to the isolation chamber. A pre-recorded woman's voice recited, "Warning. Isolation chamber is now in full quarantine mode. All life support systems have been routed into self-sustaining recyclers. This area is off-limits to anyone but authorized personnel."

Malcolm backed away and looked at the doorway guard, who returned a nod of understanding and took a slightly more alert stance. Phlox hit the intercom switch with a disgusted expression.

"Phlox to bridge. Medical and Security emergency."

"_Doctor? This is the captain. What's going on?"_

Phlox sighed. "I'm not precisely certain yet, Captain. What I can tell you is this. Up to this point Raijiin's biosigns have been perfectly normal in every respect. Agent Senek reported as her advocate and walked into isolation to meet with her. Exactly eleven seconds later by the chronometer, Raijiin's neural readings spiked and her respiration became significantly depressed. Thirty-two seconds after that, just as I was reaching to activate the monitor, Agent Senek called to report that something was the matter with the prisoner. The monitor now shows Raijiin lying unconscious on her bunk with Agent Senek standing over her."

There was a long pause. _"It sounds like Raijiin tried to overpower Senek and bit off more than she could chew."_

"Perhaps," Phlox told him. "Or perhaps not. Captain, Raijiin's biosigns are now very, very disturbing. Her entire body has almost shut down completely. It's almost as if she has gone into hibernation... all in the matter of a few seconds... with one exception. Her conscious thought processes are still fully active. She is awake and alert, but she is totally paralyzed. I have never seen anything like this before. Never."

"_Is Malcolm still there?"_

"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Reed spoke up. "I'm standing right here, sir."

"_Tie the comm from inside the isolation chamber into this conversation, will you Malcolm? Let's get Senek's input on this."_

"Aye, sir." Reed got busy at the isolation chamber's control board and shortly thereafter Senek's voice came online.

"_I really have no idea what happened,"_ the Vulcan's disembodied voice declared. _"We had barely begun to speak about her case when the young woman suddenly clutched at her temples and collapsed."_

"Quite frankly, Agent Senek," Phlox retorted with a bite in his voice, "I find that statement improbable to the point of incredible. You are asking me to believe that an otherwise healthy young woman suddenly, for no apparent reason and without warning, decides to collapse within seconds of your arrival. And yet you deny having any connection with this event? Please," he snorted.

"_I am not a healer,"_ Senek protested. _"I cannot be held responsible for the unexpected reactions of a hitherto unknown species."_

"You are, however," Phlox shot back, "the agent of a political power with a long history of prevarication and misdirection."

Malcolm propped against the wall and listened with deep interest. This was getting good. Almost never did Phlox get what Commander Tucker called "really riled up", but when he did, he became a force of nature than none aboard _Enterprise_ dared oppose.

Malcolm could almost feel the captain's hesitation through the comm system. _"Doctor. Is there any possibility that you could have overlooked something? I'm not trying to dispute your opinion..."_ He let his voice trail off delicately.

Phlox made a sound that Malcolm classified as halfway between a growl and a hiss. "Possible? Yes, Captain. Of course it's possible that I may have overlooked something. I gave Raijiin a complete blood work up. I scanned every system in her body - twice. I have been monitoring her brain waves, respiration, heartbeat, temperature, blood pressure, electrolytes, environmental conditions, diet, caloric intake, hydration, and every other factor that I am equipped to monitor unceasingly since she arrived. I have checked for microbes, viruses, chemical contamination, and radiation exposure."

He took a deep breath. "But yes, of course. It is certainly within the realm of possibility that I might have overlooked something. I am only mortal and fallible, Captain. Like anyone else. But if I did overlook something that might have caused this I have no idea what it could possibly be."

"_That's all I need to hear."_ Captain Archer spoke with sudden decision. _"Lieutenant Reed, take Agent Senek into custody for questioning."_

"_I protest, Captain."_ Senek managed to inject a note of carefully moderated indignation into his voice.

"Restrain yourself, Mr. Reed," Phlox told him. Malcolm paused in mid stride at the halfway point between the comm and the isolation chamber door. He turned to look quizzically at the doctor.

"What is it, Dr. Phlox?" he asked politely.

"I am afraid," Phlox answered him, speaking partly to the comm and partly to the room at large, "that I cannot allow the quarantine to be compromised. Since Agent Senek continues to maintain that he had nothing to do with Raijiin's collapse, there remains a very slight possibility that she may actually be sick. Until I have confirmed the real reason for her condition I cannot permit the quarantine to be lifted. Question Agent Senek, by all means, but you will have to do it by comm link. No one is going in or out of that isolation chamber until I find out for certain why she collapsed."

#

"I warn you, Commander T'Pol, that I am seriously contemplating enforcement action."

T'Pol raised her eyebrow and regarded T'Lar thoughtfully. The young Task Force commander was obviously stretched to the breaking point. T'Pol estimated her to be approximately nine years younger than T'Pol was herself. For someone so young to be entrusted with a responsibility this onerous spoke volumes of how thinly the resources of the new Vulcan government were stretched.

She suppressed a sigh. Captain Archer's logic was unassailable. Sending her to deal with T'Lar was plainly the best option available, and a face-to-face meeting was more efficient. But she had her own issues to deal with. Why did everything have to descend at once?

T'Pol immediately chided herself. _More meditation time tonight,_ she decided. As much as she cherished her bond with Trip, her connection with a Human was causing her to experience occasional bursts of illogical frustration. She would need to focus her attention and bring these firmly under control if they were to maintain a long term relationship. Time to put her personal problems aside and concentrate on her job.

"Commander T'Lar, your concerns are logical and justified. Captain Archer intends to address them immediately."

"That is most welcome news," T'Lar told her suspiciously. "In that case, why has Agent Senek not been released? And why has Subcenturion T'Riss not been transferred to our Sickbay?"

"Despite your apparent conviction that Captain Archer is engaging in deliberate obfuscation," T'Pol kept her tone even and level, "it is a fact that he is relatively helpless to overrule his Chief Medical Officer."

T'Lar's lips tightened. "Enough! You say that Captain Archer intends to address my concerns, and then with the next breath you state that he is helpless to do so. Which is truth?"

This time T'Pol did sigh. "Both. Since the most urgent source of concern deals with medical issues, particularly the condition of Subcenturion T'Riss, Captain Archer proposes that _Enterprise_ go to warp and proceed at best speed to rejoin the task force. As soon as we arrive, the healer-melder can begin treatment of Subcenturion T'Riss. Meanwhile, Dr. Phlox and the other healers can continue to analyze the situation inside our isolation chamber in order to determine the reason for Raijiin's condition. If it is determined that she collapsed for some cause that is not communicable, Agent Senek will be released immediately thereafter."

T'Lar actually relaxed a trifle. "That is... an acceptable beginning," she said grudgingly. "While _Enterprise_ proceeds toward the station, _Sehlat_ can continue repairing _Lerteiran_. It is probable that the medical situation for both T'Riss and Raijiin will be resolved by the time we arrive."

"That is Captain Archer's hope," T'Pol told her. "Also, Captain Archer suggests that Mr. Johansen accompany _Enterprise_ so that he may begin treatment for the damage inflicted by Raijiin's probe. We can leave an armory technician to finish the sensor upgrades for their new torpedoes."

T'Lar's face tightened again. "That is another issue that requires discussion."

"No, it does not," T'Pol replied serenely. "Daniel Johansen is a citizen of Earth. It is within the authority of Earth to arm its own citizens in any manner that it chooses. Do you dispute this?"

"_Lerteiran_ is not a Human ship!" T'Lar snapped. "It is Andorian. Despite our current peace treaty, we are far from being on friendly terms with the Andorians. Earth is supposed to be our ally. I do not consider it to be the act of an ally to provide state of the art weapons to an unfriendly power."

"_Lerteiran_ is in fact a Human ship," T'Pol shot back. "It is a Human ship just as much as it is Andorian. Daniel Johansen owns a 12.5% share of the ship as well as a share of all associated cargo and accoutrements. In any case the distinction is irrelevant. We are not giving the torpedoes to _Lerteiran_. We are giving them to Mr. Johansen. What he does with them, or where he chooses to install them, is entirely his own business. Once he takes possession of the torpedoes they become his own private property and Starfleet has no further authority over them."

"A ridiculously transparent ruse." T'Lar nearly seethed.

T'Pol abruptly turned cold. "Commander T'Lar," she said, turning the full weight of her nine years and several thousand light years of seniority on her. "It is hardly the place of the Vulcan government, or its designated representative, to dictate to Starfleet what the duties and responsibilities of an ally might be. Whenever Vulcan has needed any type of assistance from Earth, it has always been provided—without exception. Vulcan has neither the legal nor the moral authority to oversee Earth's internal dealings with one of its own citizens."

T'Lar actually winced. T'Pol bored onward, drilling deep and going for blood once she got started. "Furthermore, the technology in question was developed by Humans without any assistance from the Vulcan government. It is based in part on intelligence obtained from examination of alien salvage obtained during _Enterprise_'s initial deep space voyage, with additional recent upgrades based on intelligence obtained during our mission into the Delphic Expanse. Some of the technology is actually derived from scans that were obtained with the assistance of the Andorian ship Kumari. " She sat back and looked T'Lar straight in the eye until T'Lar looked away. It was undoubtedly Trip Tucker's corrupting influence that cause T'Pol's subsequent sudden and unexpected urge to smile in triumph. It required a great deal of effort, but she managed to refrain from doing so.

#

"Whoa!" Trip grabbed his arm and steadied him. Daniel shook his head and said with a smile, "That was wild."

"Wasn't it though?" Trip grinned. "First time through a transporter?"

"Yeah," Daniel replied sheepishly. Then he looked around with interest. They stood on a small platform in some kind of alcove. In front of them was a console where Commander T'Pol was operating the controls. "Welcome back, Commander. Welcome aboard, Mr. Johansen," she told them civilly.

"Thank you, Commander," Trip replied with what sounded to Daniel like an affectionate tone. "Please advise the captain that we're ready to get underway at his convenience."

The corner of T'Pol's mouth twitched in that shadow of a smile that some Vulcans occasionally permitted themselves with family and extremely close friends. "I will do so, Commander."

"Come on, Daniel. Let's get you settled into your quarters and then have Phlox look you over." Trip headed off down the corridor, leaving Daniel no choice but to heft his duffel and follow thoughtfully.

#

T'Pol stepped onto the bridge to find Lieutenant Sato sitting in the command chair. "Commander T'Pol," Hoshi informed her, "the captain requests that you report to his ready room upon your arrival." T'Pol acknowledged the order and stepped across to knock on the door. Hearing an invitation to enter, she walked in to find the captain and Lieutenant Reed facing the communications console.

"_Captain,_" Agent Senek's voice issued from the comm. _"I am certainly willing to cooperate, but I fail to see what more I can do. I have already reported the events precisely as they occurred."_

Captain Archer's jaw muscles bunched in a manner that T'Pol found all too familiar. He let his breath hiss out through his nostrils and shook his head. He looked at Reed, who pursed his lips and returned the head shake, and then gestured at T'Pol to approach.

"Quite frankly Agent Senek, I think you're lying," Archer told him bluntly. "Let me speak plainly for once. Doctor Phlox informs me that it isn't possible for the situation to have happened the way you describe it. Given a choice between believing Dr. Phlox or believing a member of the Vulcan Security Directorate, my decision isn't a difficult one."

"_Then we seem to be at an impasse,"_ Senek said.

"Perhaps not," T'Pol offered. "Captain, with your permission I would like to speak with Agent Senek in private. Would that be acceptable?"

Archer snorted in disgust. "It can't hurt." He stood up. "Come on Malcolm. Maybe T'Pol can accomplish something. We're just spinning our wheels here." The two of them exited the room, but not before Jonathan Archer caught her eye and smiled crookedly, silently mouthing the words, _Have fun!_ T'Pol raised a brow at him in tolerant amusement before turning toward the comm screen. It was dark. She would evidently be limited to verbal communication during her negotiations. The situation had its advantages, but it would be difficult to judge Senek's responses.

"_Greetings, Commander,"_ Senek said in a wry tone. _"It is always agreeable to converse with an old friend."_

"Indeed," T'Pol replied ironically, seating herself. She interlaced her fingers on the desktop, exhaled heavily, and said, "We are unmonitored now. You may speak freely. But first, I must say that your obstinate refusal to acknowledge the reality of your situation is both illogical and unfitting for an agent of your experience. I confess to surprise."

"_Are you convinced of the accuracy of your assessment, Commander?"_ Senek challenged. _"Is there no room in your thoughts for the possibility that I might be speaking the truth?"_

"None whatsoever," T'Pol told him bluntly.

"_In that case," _Senek came back, _"I am open to suggestions._"

"The truth is often useful," T'Pol suggested.

"_In carefully measured doses, perhaps,"_ Senek admitted.

"Did she attack you? Or did you instigate the meld?"

There was a long pause. _"Does it matter?"_

"To me? Personally? No, not greatly," T'Pol told him. "I make no pretense of a lack of bias regarding Raijiin. It is fortunate, both for her and for my own honor, that I am in no way responsible for her judgment. However it might make a difference to the Humans, depending on your motivation."

"_In this, to you, I speak with sincere honesty when I say that I truly regret my inability to tell you my motivation. If I could tell you, T'Pol, I would. I mean that."_

T'Pol raised her interlaced hands until the tips of her index fingers touched her lips. "So you were given a classified assignment by the Directorate to acquire Raijiin. I see." There was no response from the comm, so she continued. "I speculate that the Directorate wishes to investigate the possibility of using her abilities, and perhaps even learning to duplicate them. She resisted, and you were forced to subdue her. Am I correct?"

Silence was her only response. T'Pol closed her eyes in exasperation. "Senek. You hold in your hands a priceless opportunity. If you are willing to release your convulsive grip on your conditioned paranoia you can simultaneously accomplish your mission and improve relations between Earth and Vulcan. But you cannot do it if you continue to treat Vulcan's closest ally as an enemy in time of war."

"_My orders are quite clear, Commander. I violate them at my peril."_

"Your orders are flexible enough to permit you to modify them if required in order to accomplish your mission objectives," T'Pol retorted. "I know that as well as you do. The plain facts are these - you will not leave this ship until Captain Archer is satisfied with your explanation. Under Earth law he has the right to place you in the brig and hold you there without trial until this ship returns to Earth. At which point you will be handed over to Starfleet authorities and placed in a Human holding facility while more paperwork is processed. Finally a hearing will be held. It may be months before you ever breathe the air of freedom again. Meanwhile, Raijiin will be tried, found guilty, and placed permanently in a Human hospital for the criminally insane. You will return to Vulcan in disgrace with your mission a failure. Is this your desire?"

After a few moments, _"Your reports were always richly descriptive,"_ Senek said. The sound of a sigh came through the comm. _"Your assessment was not inaccurate,_" he admitted. _"Raijiin was not pleased with the concept of spending her life in service to the Security Directorate. She attempted to use her abilities to immobilize me, forcing me to induce a fugue state. She is quite undamaged, but she will remain in her current condition until I retrieve her."_

"Understood." Since she was alone and unseen, T'Pol permitted herself the shameful luxury of a small, triumphant smile. "I believe that a compromise may be possible. Allow me to recall the captain.

#

Daniel turned his head to look across the room. "Please be still, Mr. Johansen," the alien doctor requested. He flushed.

"Sorry, Dr. Phlox," he muttered. There was nothing to see anyway, a curtain hung between the exam table and the bed where T'Riss slept. None of his business, he told himself.

"That's quite all right, Mr. Johansen," Phlox told him. The Denobulan hummed under his breath as he made some adjustments to his instruments. Daniel looked up at the overhead plates and counted rivets as the scans continued, and tried to ignore the itching from the sensors that were stuck to his scalp. Finally Phlox told him, "We're all done here. You can sit up now."

"What's the verdict, Doctor?" he asked, a little nervously, while Phlox popped the self attaching neural probes loose from his head. When the last one came free Daniel turned to glance at the display monitor mounted at the end of the biobed, but it had been turned off already.

"The damage was not as bad as I had feared," Phlox told him encouragingly. "Unfortunately, it was slightly worse than I had hoped. You will need to undergo a series of two initial injections of neurotransmitters today, followed by one more tomorrow morning in order to halt the progression of the deterioration. After that, once I am certain that the damage has been halted, I will begin injecting you with cultured stem cells to replace the missing areas. The total treatment should last approximately a week if all goes well."

"OK, whatever you say," Daniel agreed affably. "What would happen if you just stopped the damage and didn't try to regrow the nerve tissue?"

"You would never get rid of the headaches, for one thing," Phlox told him.

"Shoot me up, then, Doc," Daniel promptly responded, holding out his arm with a grin. His smile vanished, though, as the doctor extended a small hypospray injector toward one of his eyes instead, and he instinctively dodged before it made contact. Phlox hesitated, grimacing apologetically. "Ah... did I forget to tell you that the neurotransmitters must go directly into the central nervous system via the vessels surrounding the optic nerve?" he asked. Daniel just stared back at him, and then gulped. So that's what that look of pity on Trip's face had been all about.

#

"So what you are telling me," Captain Archer said thoughtfully, "is that you want Raijiin to spend the rest of her life as a kind of indentured servant to the Vulcan Security Directorate?"

"_Essentially correct, Captain,"_ Senek admitted. _"Although the Security Directorate does not, and would not, force Raijiin to act in a manner that contradicted her innate moral code, if our government were to take action to rescue her from facing trial and retribution at the hands of Starfleet it seems only equitable that she make restitution in some manner."_

Lieutenant Reed flashed a nasty grin. "Certainly. Entirely logical, I must say."

"_I am gratified that you concur, Lieutenant Reed,"_ Senek replied.

Archer smothered a snort and looked across at T'Pol and Malcolm with ironic amusement in his eyes. "You understand, Agent Senek, that I do not have the authority to approve such an arrangement on my own. I will contact my superiors and present this proposal to them, in strict confidence of course, and let you know their response."

"_I will await your notification then, Captain. I hope that we can resolve this situation amicably."_

"As do I, Agent Senek." Archer glanced across at Malcolm, who was looking positively gleeful. "Somehow, I am beginning to suspect that we might. Archer out." He switched off the comm and leaned back. "Opinions?"

"Bloody brilliant," Malcolm said with enthusiasm, "If you will excuse my language, sir. This is better than a prison sentence. A lifetime at hard labor without parole, and no chance of escape either. Raijiin might have a shot at getting away from our guards, but I doubt she would be able to give her Vulcan handlers the slip for very long."

"It does seem an appropriate form of recompense for her crime, Captain," T'Pol offered. "If we accept her excuse that she was conditioned into obedience by a lifetime of slavery, then this option provides a modicum of mercy compared to lifetime confinement in Earth's prison system. At the same time, it permits Raijiin to offer restitution for her actions and thereby demonstrate the sincerity of her oft expressed remorse."

Archer grinned. "She does keep going on and on and on about how sorry she is doesn't she? You're right; this would be the perfect chance to prove it." He sat thoughtfully for a brief moment. "T'Pol, please take the bridge and ask Hoshi to see if she can punch through to Admiral Gardner for me. I realize this nebula may make it impossible, but have her give it a shot anyway. I have to mop up a couple of details with Malcolm about security arrangements during all of this prisoner shuffling we're about to be doing. I'll be out after I talk to the admiral, or after I finish up the latest log entries, whichever comes last." T'Pol inclined her head and headed for the bridge, leaving the two men alone.

"Lieutenant Reed," Archer began soberly. Malcolm straightened in his chair and stiffened. "I am not going to ask for any specifics. But I find it impossible to believe that Section 31 has kept their nose completely out of this situation."

Reed looked intensely uncomfortable. He squirmed and sighed, nodding shamefacedly. "Yes, sir. I have heard from Harris." Archer looked resigned.

"I expected as much. I don't need, or want, to know what he wanted... unless it was in direct conflict with our mission. In which case you would have warned me, wouldn't you?" The look he sent across the room stabbed.

"Yes, sir!" Malcolm stood up and snapped to attention. "I gave you my word, sir!" Archer waved him back to his seat.

"I believe you, Lieutenant. Take it easy. Sit." Reed reluctantly resumed his chair. "The reason I bring this up is no doubt obvious to you. If we do manage to get Starfleet to agree to Senek's proposal, and frankly I love the idea, you know as well as I do that the brass is still going to want their pound of flesh in some form. So I want you to contact Harris. We need to talk to him, both of us together, and find out what his price is. If we can get his approval, and get Admiral Gardner's approval, I'm confident that everything else will fall into place, especially if the admiral can recruit the ambassador to our side."

Malcolm nodded. "I agree, sir. When would you like me to call Harris?"

"Tonight, during Gamma shift," Archer told him. "Cloak and dagger should be done at midnight, don't you think?" He grinned. "It'll be easier to avoid comments that way. Just drop in around 1130 hours. We both keep odd hours anyway, so no one will be surprised to see either of us show up in the middle of the night to make a spot check."

"Acknowledged," Reed replied with just the trace of a smile in response. Then he stood up. "Permission to return to duty, sir?" he asked, facing Archer at attention in full military manner. Archer chuckled. "Permission granted," he replied. Malcolm nodded crisply and turned to leave..

"And, Malcolm?" The lieutenant stopped and looked over his shoulder inquiringly. "Good work."

"Thank you, sir." Reed smiled broadly and stepped through the door with his shoulders squared.

#

Trip sipped his coffee and stubbornly refused to turn his head toward the doorway, where his wife...would he ever get used to thinking that word?... had just entered the mess hall. Instead he watched through hooded eyes as she scanned the room until she spotted him. She paused a moment, then walked over to the drinks dispenser to get her usual cup of tea before heading his way. He tried to brace himself. Here we go.

"Good evening, Commander," she offered. "Is this seat taken?" Trip chewed the inside of his cheek and glanced up at her.

"Is it ever? Has it ever been?" he gibed in a gentle voice. "Sit down. Talk to me." He saw her fingers tighten, but she sat down.

"You have been out of touch since our last conversation," T'Pol mentioned evenly. "We have not spoken since you returned from _Lerteiran_, and only briefly then." They were in public, so Trip was not surprised that she failed to mention his lack of appearance in her quarters the night before.

Trip did not reply. He took a sip of coffee and watched her over the rim of the cup without a word, holding her eyes steadily. It was her move now.

#

T'Pol waited.

After four minutes and 13 seconds, she continued, "Are you still angry with me?"

"Not really." The response came with gratifying speed. His tone left no room for doubt about the matter. The smile that accompanied his answer was also reassuring. "Disappointed. Hurt. But not really angry."

"Then..." Her brows drew together. "Why have you avoided me?"

"I didn't. I just stopped making the first move."

The answer was shockingly simple. T'Pol blinked and sat back, realizing that it was true. She had become so accustomed to their meetings in the mess hall, and their regular evening rendezvous, that when they stopped she was at a loss to respond. It suddenly struck her that the concept of actively pursuing him had never occurred to her. Always before in their relationship, it was Trip who initiated contact. It was Trip who opened discussions of emotional matters. It was always Trip who began things between them. She had never been forced into an active role before. The thought made her profoundly nervous.

"I am sorry," she said softly.

"I know." He shrugged. "Water under the bridge." Trip took another sip of coffee, and then stared with disgust into his cup. "I have absolutely got to fabricate a new coffeepot for Chef. This stuff would strip the finish off the reactor core. Can't really complain I guess, considering that it's been with us all the way from Earth to the Expanse, to the Syndicate, back to Earth, and now back to the Syndicate. I suppose you could say it's lived up to its warranty."

"You cannot be serious." T'Pol eyed the mug. "Chef is actually still using the original coffee urn that was issued to the galley when _Enterprise_ was launched?"

Trip nodded in irritation. "He put in the order for a new one two years ago. Six months later the cap'n personally initialed a request to speed it up. Once a month since then the cap'n sends in a new request. Nothing. I repaired and patched and tuned it until there is nothing left to fix anymore. Time to make a new one from scratch I guess."

"I am confident that your product will be equal or superior to the best available from the quartermaster's stores," T'Pol told him. Trip flashed a quick smile. Silence fell. They stared at each other. T'Pol idly wondered what other nonsensical subject they would come up with to avoid discussing the inevitable.

"Mr. Johansen seems to be settling in well, according to Ensign Mayweather," she finally blurted out. "Apparently bunking with the MACOs is quite agreeable to him."

"Like Travis said," Trip nodded idly, "Boomers are used to living in cramped circumstances. Daniel probably spent most of his life in one kind of barracks or another." He turned his head to gaze out of the viewport, obviously not attempting to force the conversation in any particular direction. T'Pol took a deep breath. It was up to her to make the next move.

#

"?" It came without warning, in a sudden gush unlike anything that Trip had ever heard from T'Pol before. He yanked his gaze from the port to see her holding her mug in a white knuckled grip and staring at him with eyes like a wounded doe. It was all he could do to keep from grabbing her right then and there in a bear hug and whispering reassurances in her ear.

Instead, he slid a hand over inconspicuously and closed in on her wrist. "Yes," he told her firmly. He put all the intensity he could into his voice, and tried as best he could figure out how to project sincerity through the bond. Something must have worked, because she suddenly slumped back against the chair like a puppet whose strings had been cut.

"I..." she swallowed. "I did not..." Again she tried to talk. "When you showed me the..." It wasn't working. Trip squeezed her wrist and smiled.

"Shhh. Just breathe. Drink your tea. We have all night to talk." He drained his coffee with a grimace and shuddered. "I can't handle any more of this. I'm gonna see if Chef has any cocoa made. Or maybe some of that Darjeeling that Malcolm has been after me to try. Anything has to be better than this bat guano." Trip could feel her eyes on his back while he made his way to the counter.

#

"Captain Archer, what a pleasant surprise," Harris said, shooting Malcolm a look that was less than thrilled. "You're looking well. I'm certain that Malcolm has an excellent reason for making this call."

"Odd you should say that, Harris," Archer bit back. "I was just thinking that your face has not improved with age. I was sincerely hoping that we would never have to speak again, but unfortunately we have a situation that must be resolved. So I ordered Malcolm to contact you. Not by preference, I assure you."

Harris settled back and his eyes narrowed. "You need something, I take it?" A slight smile crossed his lips. "I'm always willing to do business."

Captain Archer looked at Malcolm, who winced. He turned back to the monitor and said, "No, Harris. I don't need one thing you have. In fact, this time I hold all the cards. I am making a courtesy call in the interest of keeping things functioning smoothly between Earth and Vulcan. However, if you would prefer to play your little mind games, I can deal strictly with Admiral Gardner and leave you out of the loop altogether."

Harris's nostrils flared. "Malcolm, I suggest that you brief your captain on the consequences of..."

"Can it, Harris," Archer interrupted him. "I'm not interested in hearing your threats or your bluffs. We have Raijiin. The Vulcan Security Directorate wants her for their own use. We have the Security Directorate over a barrel. I have their local agent in confinement, right along with Raijiin. We have leverage in the person of my first officer that will get us anything we want, within reason, if in return we give them Raijiin. Interested?"

Harris sat speechless, Archer noted with intense satisfaction. "Well?" the captain demanded. "I haven't been able to reach Admiral Gardner yet, apparently he's out on some kind of inspection tour. But as soon as he returns I am dumping this in his lap. Make up your mind."

Harris leaned forward slowly. "This is excellent news, Captain," he said evenly. "Despite your opinion of me, the fact remains that we're on the same side, even if it galls you to admit it. Don't worry about Admiral Gardner. I will contact him immediately and pass this along to him. I am sure that he will interrupt his tour for something like this."

"You have a link to the admiral?" Archer asked, feeling a touch defeated.

"Of course," For once Harris seemed a bit surprised. "We are part of Starfleet, after all. Did you forget that? The flag officers of Starfleet Command are well aware of the existence of Section 31, as are the President and leaders of the legislature. Anyone with a need to know is informed as part of the briefing for the duties of their position. It would be impossible for a flag officer to function without knowing about such a critical department within Starfleet intelligence."

"All right then," Archer replied. "Find out what I have to ask for from Senek. He is willing to deal, but only to a point. Remember, don't push it too far or we might be stuck with a Security agent that I can't keep but I can't turn loose either."

"Understood, Captain," Harris looked amused. "Heaven forbid that we should set such a precedent as that. I am confident that we can come to mutually agreeable terms. Admiral Gardner will be in touch with you soon. Harris out." The screen went blank.

Archer and Reed let out identical sighs of relief. Then looked at each other and chuckled. The captain shook his head. "Well, I suppose that since Harris seems confident in a happy ending, we might as well build some goodwill by letting Senek out of confinement. He must be getting hungry and eager to stretch his legs by now, don't you think, Malcolm?"

"Certainly, sir. I know I would be," Lieutenant Reed told him.

"Go on down then," Archer ordered. "I'll call ahead and clear it with Phlox. He's not going to be happy, but at least we know there isn't any new danger loose on the ship... for a change."

#

Raijiin felt numbness all over her body. Then the prickle of returning circulation began, annoying at first and then increasingly painful. Memory started to emerge. A face. A man's face. Vulcan. Who? An older man. He wore... What did he wear? A uniform. A Vulcan uniform. An older man in a Vulcan uniform. He was touching her. A Vulcan client? No. Not a client. He was...

_**Fear!**_

She shot upward to a sitting position and swung her arm around to slap the hands away from her face. Senek stepped back calmly and watched while she regained control of herself. Raijiin sat on the bunk and looked up at him, trembling.

"Are you capable of speaking?" he asked her indifferently. She nodded. The Vulcan raised an eyebrow in that infuriating manner they had.

"What. Did. You. Do?" She forced out the words one at a time through chattering teeth. He shrugged.

Senek told her, "That is not relevant. However, I am now about to leave this containment area. It is more convenient for you to be awake so that you may attend to your own physical needs. We will speak again soon." He turned to walk to the door and pressed the comm button. "I am ready to leave, Lieutenant."

A disembodied voice that Raijiin vaguely recognized as the security officer, Reed, replied, _"Acknowledged."_ A series of lights began to glow and the door seal started to hiss.

Raijiin's mind raced, flashing through her most recent memories. Senek wanted to enslave her for the Vulcans. T'Lar and T'Riss had both promised that the Vulcans would help her, save her from the Humans, she remembered bitterly. Hah! What a fool she had been to believe them. She could depend on no one but herself, just as it had always been. But she had to escape now. The Vulcans had powers that she had never realized. That weakling T'Pol was nothing compared to Senek. If he was an example of the people the Vulcan Security Directorate used, she would never be able to break free once they finished conditioning her. The time to move was now.

Frantically, while the airlock cycled, Raijiin ran through her options. The answer came to her from the most unlikely of sources. During her melds with both T'Riss and Senek, she had absorbed much of their peripheral knowledge without even noticing. It was a typical byproduct of her talent. One skill that both of them possessed might save her now. Senek did have his back to her...

Raijiin moved as soon as the thought cleared, before Senek would have time to detect her intention and move to deflect the attack. She sprang from the bed in one fluid movement and leaped for his back. Her hand grabbed for the joining of his neck and shoulder, squeezing and twisting... just... so...

The Vulcan's eyes rolled up and he collapsed in her arms. A surge of triumph rolled through her. Raijiin stepped back out of the way and let him fall to the floor, enjoying the sound he made when his head hit the deck plates. Now, to deal with the Humans outside. And that Denobulan. But Denobulans were no problem; she had handled Denobulans before. Their sex drives were among the strongest of all.

#

"_Rekloq! Dorfalni ren igh ernt kalinde!"_ Daniel cursed, using language that would have earned him a box on the ears from Sehlra. He stood up from the unconscious form of Dr. Phlox and ran over to check out Malcolm, then the other guard. The wide open door of the isolation chamber showed Senek flat on his back and no sign of Raijiin. Daniel clenched his fists. Then he took a deep breath and deliberately unlocked every muscle. Sensei's words came back to him, _"Rage harms your enemy not at all, and destroys your ability to adapt."_

First things first. He hit the comm. "Emergency. Sickbay to bridge. Emergency. Raijiin has escaped."

#

Raijiin fell against the bulkhead gulping for air. Her vision was blurring. Taking down that last search party had almost rendered her as unconscious as the Humans. She looked at the weapon again and shuddered. Presumably one setting was stun and one was kill, but she had no idea which was which. It didn't really matter. The very thought of deliberately turning a weapon on a sentient being made her stomach churn. Using her power to defend herself was one thing. But deliberately shooting someone? No.

She carefully did not explore the contradiction between her thoughts and the reality of helping to construct a weapon designed to kill billions.

Raijiin shook her head rapidly and tried to think. From what she could remember of the briefing the Xindi gave her, the _Enterprise_ shuttle bay was at the bottom of the ship. Surely it could not be much farther. With a shuttle she could duck into the nebula and perhaps find another ship. Whoever picked her up would probably be vulnerable to her power. From now own she would never again hesitate to use her power over other minds to advance her own interest. Trusting anyone else was the act of a fool. She had finally gotten that much through her head. She pushed off the wall and lurched forward.

She found the shuttle bay one level farther down. Raijiin couldn't suppress a whine of eagerness. She lunged for the door and turned the handle. Locked. Of course. Impatiently she stepped back and pointed the weapon at the lock.

Nothing happened. She switched settings. Still nothing. She screamed in frustration and threw the sidearm at the door. Before the clattering echo finished dying away, a voice came from behind her. "Commander Tucker has saturated this portion of the corridor with a combination of focused electromagnetic radiation. The programming on the chips in your phase pistol is scrambled."

She turned to see Commander T'Pol step around the corner. The Vulcan was wearing a sidearm but had not drawn it. Suddenly Raijiin realized that if her gun was disabled, the Vulcan's weapon must be disabled as well. She smiled.

"Well then," she let her shoulders slump. "You have me." She put a note of weary defeat into her voice. "It was worth trying. You know what your people plan to do to me, don't you? They are going to enslave me again."

"They are going to do nothing of the sort," T'Pol retorted sharply.

Raijiin jerked her head up angrily. "What do you call it then? When you force someone to do your bidding without giving them a choice in the matter? If that isn't slavery, what is it?"

"Punishment," T'Pol told her flatly. "Well deserved punishment." The Vulcan walked closer and tossed over a pair of handcuffs. "Put these on."

Raijiin bent down and picked up the shackles. She looked up at T'Pol with calculation. "And if I refuse?"

"Then I will subdue you by force," T'Pol told her.

"Really?" Raijiin asked. She looked T'Pol in the eye and attacked with everything she had left. For an instant the Vulcan woman's defenses held firm, then they cracked and fell. She was inside.

_**Exultation**_.

_Something was wrong. She felt resistance that had not been there the last time. Raijiin drew upon her final reserves and drove in harder. The new resistance pushed back with equal force, then with even greater force. She was being thrust back. Impossible...but it was happening. How? The woman was not this strong, was she? _

_Her external senses dimly registered footsteps approaching. A Human came into view, the engineer named Tucker. The same one as the last time she'd tried to control this particular Vulcan. _

_**Irritation, humor, irony.** _

_Was she cursed? Every time she dealt with this Vulcan was this same Human going to appear? What was between them? What... No. It could not be... _

_The pressure increased again. His presence strengthened T'Pol. This close to him, she could tell. These two were connected somehow. They were reinforcing each other. NO. It wasn't __**fair**__. She couldn't fight both of them together._

Raijiin wrenched herself free of the mental clinch and backed up against the door. "You. Two. How?"

"Put on the handcuffs," T'Pol ordered her. The Vulcan's face was wet with sweat and her eyes glittered dangerously. Raijiin grabbed the cuffs and stretched the chain out between her hands.

The Human told Raijiin, "I wouldn't if I were you. She's lightning fast and strong as a python. She'd whup your ass." His smile was evil.

Raijiin's mind slammed against the cage of her desperation, seeking a solution. There was no way out. No way. No.

She threw her power at the Human. He staggered and fell to his knees as the Vulcan moved in. It was her only chance. If she could do to the Human what Senek had done to her, she could force the Vulcan to free her in order to get her mate back. The first blow was a shaft of agony through her lungs. Raijiin clenched her eyes shut and concentrated all her effort on maintaining the link with Tucker. The second blow made breathing almost impossible. She felt something in her leg splinter and the floor came up hard. The individual impacts faded into a continuous barrage of pain.

A faint voice called out, "Commander!" Then another voice, "T'Pol! Kroy-kyah!"

_Blackness._

#

"You know, Doc, when you said injections I was envisioning more hypos," Daniel muttered as best he could within the head brace.

"I only wish it could be that simple," Phlox told him sympathetically. He made a final adjustment to the restraints and asked, "How's that? Comfortable enough?"

"Sure," Daniel told him resignedly. "If I have to be strapped down for this, it's as comfortable as it's gonna get. I just wish it didn't feel like my head was in a vise."

"I am sorry, Mr. Johansen," Phlox told him, "But we dare not take the chance of any reflex movements, or accidentally jarring. Brain surgery, even relatively minor procedures like this, is not something to take lightly."

"I understand," he sighed. "I'm ready when you are."

"All right then." Phlox activated the sterile field and began shaving patches of Daniel's scalp above the relevant areas of his skull. "If you would like to watch, I can activate a monitor for you," he offered.

"No thanks," Daniel told him hastily. "I'll just let you talk me through it."

"Fine then," the doctor said cheerfully. "First of all, I will complete the process of shaving your scalp above the portions of your cerebrum that were damaged by the probing. Now," he put down the razor and picked up a new tool.

"What I have here is a tiny laser drill. This will allow me to make a microscopic bore hole through your skull directly down to the damaged area. Once we have the bore hole, I will insert a probe and inject the cultured stem cells at the proper location. Then I withdraw the probe like this..." he deftly pulled out the instrument, "and once I place the dressing over the bore hole we will have one side finished."

"That didn't take long," Daniel said in relief.

"Not long at all," Phlox comforted him. "The other side should go just as quickly. Then two more days of injections with neurogenic growth factors to encourage the stem cells to develop properly. After that, you should be good as new," he finished brightly.

"I'm starting to wish I had left Raijiin in that cargo hold to freeze," Daniel growled.

The sickbay door swooshed open. "On this ship," Phlox told him, "I'm afraid you're not alone in that sentiment."

"Doctor Phlox?" An unfamiliar voice spoke in a conversational tone from behind the curtain screening the cubicle which Daniel and Phlox were occupying. "I am Healer Sorsen. I was sent to attend Subcenturion T'Riss."

"I will be with you momentarily," Phlox answered. He looked down at Daniel with an apologetic smile. "If you will excuse me for just a brief moment. It won't be long."

"No problem, doc." Daniel tried to grin. "I'm not going anywhere." He heard the two talking for a minute, then they both came back around the curtain. A young Vulcan male, looking barely old enough to leave his parents for independent employment, stood at Phlox's side dressed in floor length healer's robes. Daniel wasn't surprised by the guy's youth. Only the most recent healer trainees, the ones who'd graduated since the discovery of the Kir'Shara, were even willing to openly admit to melder's skills, much less undergo the training to refine them. Stern's last family news update had been full of references to the changes at the Healer's Academy curriculum in Shi'Khar where he was a junior level instructor.

"Mr. Johansen, Healer Sorsen has requested permission to observe the remainder of the surgery," said Phlox earnestly. "With more and more Humans traveling into deep space it's entirely possible that he may be called upon to treat one of your people someday, and he has never even met a Human before. Would you object?"

"The more the merrier," Daniel sighed. "I just want to get this done."

The two medical men huddled together over Daniel's cranium. Where Phlox's previous explanations had been simple and folksy, he now slipped into Ancient Sanskrit with intermittent bouts of Latin. Daniel made no effort to follow what they were talking about.

Finally. "There you go," Phlox told him cheerfully. "We need you to remain in the restraints for a few more minutes just to give your system time to settle down. I recommend a brief nap if you can manage it. Then I'll call someone to help you back to your bunk. I want you to rest this evening and tonight. Tomorrow you should be able to resume normal activity, but don't over do it. All right?"

"Sure thing," Daniel agreed. Anything to get out of there. He watched the two of them walk away and closed his eyes. He really did feel tired for some reason. Evidently having your head drilled was wearing on a person, even if you didn't feel anything.

Voices came faintly. "I will not require a bed, Doctor. A stool will suffice."

Muffled noises indicated that a stool was being moved. "Is there anything that you require? Can I be of assistance?"

"No, Dr. Phlox. This matter is fairly routine. The difficulty lies not in any complication, but rather in the extended period of time that the subcenturion has remained in trance. I note that you have been meticulous about sustaining her hydration and nutrition, thus my only challenge will be in establishing contact. It is plain that the subcenturion has withdrawn quite deeply in an effort to escape her pain. It may take quite some time. Please do not interrupt for at least two hours."

"Very well, Healer. Two hours. As you say."

Daniel drifted off into blissful rest.

#

His eyes flew open and every muscle he had locked up tight. The wailing scream was still vibrating through sickbay, cutting through Daniel's bones and driving Phlox's menagerie into madness. Daniel tried to turn his head, but it was no go. The clamp still had his skull in its grip. It was a woman's voice. Had to be T'Riss. But he had never heard, never imagined or suspected that a Vulcan could or would make a sound like that.

The steady screaming shifted to a series of grunting howls. The two medics were shouting over the sound by Daniel couldn't make out a single word they said. It went on and on and on and on. He tightened his fists and wished he could close his ears.

She started to run down and her noise became slurred words. "Kroy-kyah! Nash-veh eit'jae! Riyeht-staya. Nash-veh riyeht-staya eshak! Nash-veh tishau ma'toi! Nash-veh eit'jae ma'toi!"

Daniel winced as he mentally translated. "Stop. I am begging. Killing. You are killing me with your mind. I want to die. I am begging you to let me die."

#

"Here," she held the cup and tenderly propped his bare shoulders while he drank it.

Trip sighed and looked at her. "How long are you going to treat me like spun glass? I'm fine, T'Pol. I can get up and get my own water. Not that I don't appreciate it. I really do, and thank you. But there's no reason for you to keep waiting on me like this."

She put a finger on his lips to silence him until she could lean over and kiss him. "Yes there is," she purred. "I want to do it. That's the reason." She stood up, still without a stitch of clothes on after his enthusiastic attempts the night before to reassure her of his health, and walked back to the head with the glass, treating him to a view that he never tired of. Trip settled back on the pillow with a sigh. He flinched the tiniest bit when he shifted position on the pillow, but it was enough to give him away when she came back out.

"The analgesics are not working?" she demanded.

"They're helping," he evaded. "Still some twinges though," he admitted. T'Pol's expression did not change, but he felt her rage rekindle through the bond. He grabbed her, pulling her atop him, and then rolled so she lay beside him and buried his face in her neck. "This always helps more than a pill anyway," he whispered.

It helped her too. He could sense it. "We should dress. We are scheduled to dock with _Sehlat_ in 23 minutes. The captain wishes to meet with Commander T'Lar immediately," murmured T'Pol.

"You're right." Trip rolled out of bed with a groan. "Up and at 'em." He headed for her closet and pulled out the spare uniform he now kept there, then dug into his designated drawer for clean underwear and socks. He laid them out on the chair next to her desk and then turned to her, grinning. "Shower time?"

She smiled.

#

Daniel thanked the crewman and sat down at the briefing room table. The coffee cup steamed, but that was all you could say for it. He would be joyfully glad to get back home to _Lerteiran_, where he could at least get a cup of drinkable coffee. He had never encountered swill like they served on this ship before in his life. Daniel took a tiny sip and shuddered.

The door opened again. He looked up and saw T'Riss standing just inside. She froze and stared at him. Daniel smiled hesitantly and managed to come out with, "Hi. I was just trying to force down some of this stuff they call coffee. If you were thinking about trying some, I advise against it."

She took a breath. "I had not anticipated exploring new beverage options at this time. But I thank you for the warning." She sat down on the opposite side of the table. "I wish to apologize while I have the opportunity. I had no idea that Raijiin would inflict injury on you. Had I known, or even suspected, I would not have consented to her probe. I realize that you have no reason to believe me, but I wish to apologize regardless."

Daniel looked at her. "Accepted." She blinked. T'Riss opened her mouth, then closed it again. They sat in silence for a while until everyone else arrived.

Captain Archer stood at the head of the table. "Welcome, Commander T'Lar and Subcommander Verlen." He sat down and motioned for everyone else to do the same. "Hopefully we can straighten out all of our outstanding issues today and everyone can go home happy."

"Happy is not the term I would choose," T'Lar said carefully. "However, any acceptable solution would be an agreeable change to the current set of conflicts."

Captain Archer rubbed his eyes and nodded. "To begin with, I have received word from Admiral Gardner at Starfleet Command. My superiors have agreed with my recommendation that we turn Raijiin over to Agent Senek. With some conditions."

"Naturally," Senek relied with perfect equanimity, making a small motion to T'Lar to keep quiet. "It is entirely reasonable that Starfleet would expect cooperation in this matter. May I ask what price they require?"

Archer pursed his lips and looked amused. "You don't mince words, do you Agent Senek? I don't think you will find the price too exorbitant. First, Starfleet wants a complete report on everything that Raijiin can tell us about Xindi operations during the war. We want to know what they did with the information they obtained for the bioweapon, where the plans ended up, who had access to it, what other options they were exploring, and anything else she can tell us. I am sure you know more about the kind of information that my superiors want than I do."

Senek nodded considering. "Personally, I find this request to be both reasonable and logical. It certainly can do no harm to the Xindi, and Earth has every right to know these things. Agreed. I will obtain this information and present a report to you as soon as possible."

"Second," Archer hesitated. "This one may or may not be a problem. My superiors want a commitment that Vulcan will be willing to utilize Raijiin's talents on Earth's behalf on occasion."

"Specify," Senek started to tense up.

"I can't." Archer spread his hands. "This one will have to be negotiated between your superiors and mine. All they want right now is an agreement in principle. In return, my superiors are willing to reciprocate on an equivalent basis. Can this be done?"

Senek sat back in deep thought. T'Pol spoke up. "Yes. It can be done."

"You no longer speak for the Security Directorate, Commander," Senek pointed out.

"Nor will you, if you fail to deliver Raijiin," T'Pol riposted.

Senek's lips trembled in what look suspiciously close to a smile. "Noted. I agree, Captain. An agreement in principle, with the details to be negotiated later between our superiors."

"Done." Archer reached across the table. Senek raised one eyebrow quizzically and took his handshake. "All right, that's one problem down."

"The issue remains of actually transferring Raijiin back to my ship," T'Lar pointed out.

"Uh... yes." Archer flushed. He poked the comm button. "Archer to Sickbay. Doctor Phlox. What is the status on Raijiin? When will she be ready to send back to the _Sehlat_?"

"_A few broken ribs, a shattered kneecap, some teeth knocked out. Nothing I can't handle, Captain. She will be able to travel within two days."_

"It sounds as if Raijiin's foreboding regarding her treatment aboard _Enterprise_ had a factual basis," T'Lar said disapprovingly.

"Not strictly," Senek pointed out. "The damage was inflicted by Commander T'Pol." T'Lar blinked.

T'Pol looked slightly discomfited. "She resisted arrest."

"Indeed," Senek said. He glanced from T'Pol to Commander Tucker and back again. Then returned his eyes to Archer.

"Now, we come to the matter of Subcommander T'Riss," T'Lar said. Her expression looked as if she had a bad taste in her mouth.

"No, you don't." Daniel suddenly interrupted. "I am dropping all charges."

T'Riss jerked in her chair and turned her head to stare at him. Everyone else in the room looked at Daniel with varying degrees of surprise and speculation.

"Really? Why would you do that, Mr. Johansen?" Captain Archer asked him.

Daniel shrugged. "The more I thought about it, the more I started imagining how rough she must have had it. I can't really hold her responsible for some of the things she did. Maybe she wasn't crazy in the legal sense, but she wasn't anywhere near normal either. I know that much, I talked to her myself. She wasn't acting or thinking like a normal Vulcan when she was with us chasing Grigor-Tel. Everything worked out all right in the end, so let it go."

T'Lar glared across the table at him. "Mr. Johansen, did you fabricate any part of the story you told earlier regarding Subcenturion T'Riss's actions?"

Daniel looked back. "No."

"Did the subcenturion apply any form of coercion in order to persuade you to drop the charges, or offer any sort of bribe?"

"No. Of course not."

"It is not a matter 'of course' Mr. Johansen," Commander T'Lar told him. She did not look happy. "Captain Archer, what is your position on this matter?"

Archer shook his head. "This has caught me by surprise. Mr. Johansen, are you telling me that you are no longer willing to testify against Subcenturion T'Riss?"

"That's correct," Daniel said. "In fact, if you push it through anyway, I can make sure that there is plenty of reasonable doubt to go around. You will never get a conviction. Not gonna happen."

Archer didn't seem displeased. "Well then. I suppose that we're two for two. Problems solved. This all went much smoother than I expected. I guess we're done here."

"Not quite. If I may impose, Captain," T'Lar said grimly.

Archer settled back in his chair. "Of course Commander."

"_Subcenturion T'Riss!"_ T'Lar's voice snapped like a whip. "Stand to attention."

The young woman straightened like a spring and stood quivering. T'Lar sat back and watched her grimly. No one else in the room moved. Of them all, only Daniel had not stood at one time or another where T'Riss now stood. And even he was consumed with sympathy.

"Subcenturion T'Riss," the commander's voice was like a well honed stiletto, "are you a member of the Vulcan Space Fleet?"

"Yes, Commander." T'Riss did not move. Neither her body nor her eyes budged one whit.

"Subcenturion T'Riss, do you hold officer rank in the Vulcan Space Fleet?"

A faint swallowing motion was visible. "Yes, Commander."

"Subcenturion T'Riss. "How is it that you hold officer rank in the Vulcan Space Fleet without having passed through the officer training program?" T'Lar's voice was as soft as melted butter.

T'Riss was so stiff that she was trembling faintly. "I did pass through the officer training program, Commander. After my required minimum service as a crew member, I applied for and was accepted into the officer training academy."

T'Lar waited for quite some time. The silence hung in the air like a blanket of fog. "But plainly, Subcenturion T'Riss, even thought you were accepted into the academy you could not have completed the training program."

"With respect, Commander. I did complete the program. I was 24th in a class of 605."

T'Lar considered this. "Fascinating. Then tell me, Subcenturion T'Riss, has the academy made any major adjustments to the curriculum in the last twenty years? Has the program been drastically altered by removing some of the basic areas of study?"

"Not to my knowledge, Commander." T'Riss was sweating heavily. Daniel glance around the table. Trip was wincing and looking down at the table, shaking his head slightly. Subcommander Verlen was watching the drama, stone faced. T'Pol and Senek each wore poker masks. Captain Archer looked sympathetic but dispassionate.

"Indeed?" T'Lar raised both eyebrows. "Then Subcenturion T'Riss, were you trained in survival techniques for prisoner situations?"

T'Riss flinched openly. It took her several seconds to respond. "I was, Commander."

"Subcenturion T'Riss, were you informed as part of your training that since you were female, in the event of capture there was a high probability that you might be raped?"

T'Riss closed her eyes tightly. Her breathing deepened and quickened.

T'Lar raised her voice. "Subcenturion T'Riss! You are at attention! Answer the question! Were you warned that in the event of enemy capture, female prisoners could expect to be raped?"

T'Riss worked her jaw muscles. "Yes!" She forced it out between her teeth.

T'Lar returned to her previous tone. "Subcenturion T'Riss. When you completed the academy training program, were you required to take an oath?"

T'Riss slumped and looked ready to cry. "I was... Commander."

T'Lar waited. Eventually T'Riss managed to regain her strength and straighten back up. Commander T'Lar went on. "You survived, Subcenturion. You withstood everything that your captors inflicted upon you, and you survived. But then, after you were rescued... after you had been returned to your people... after you had been given the opportunity to heal... it was only then that you dishonored yourself and the uniform that you wear."

"I had no choice, Commander." T'Riss was shaking. "YOU would not believe me. The HEALER would not believe me. NO ONE would believe me."

"You had a choice, Subcenturion," T'Lar told her evenly. "These are no longer the days of the High Command. The healer-melders can now dissolve a bonding openly. It is no longer a criminal offense to do so. In a case such as this, you knew that you could have been freed as soon as the convoy arrived."

"Freed?" T'Riss asked bitterly. "I would never be truly free. You know it. Everyone knows it. Once two minds have touched so deeply, they can never be truly separated, no matter how many years and light years separate them. The bond can be weakened, but never truly parted. Everyone knows that."

"_I didn't,"_ Daniel thought. But T'Lar was responding.

"Subcenturion T'Riss. Does a sworn officer of the Vulcan Space Fleet have the right to lie, attack the innocent, kidnap the innocent, commit mental rape, commit theft, and deliberately damage fleet property for their own personal ends?" She waited.

T'Riss stood as tall as she could. "I do not deny my guilt. But it is not logical to charge me with kidnapping when all I did was deliver Mr. Johansen to his ship, which is where he desired to be in the first place."

T'Lar's hand slapped down hard on the table. The boom echoed in the stunned room. She closed her eyes and concentrated on regaining control of her anger, while every Human in the room concentrated on regaining control of their bladder. She opened her eyes. "To invade someone's quarters without warning, stun them, drug them, and then convey them to a new location without their prior knowledge or consent is kidnapping, Subcenturion T'Riss. Your threadbare excuses are beyond illogical."

T'Lar stood up. "Subcenturion T'Riss. By your actions you have shown that you are unworthy to hold officer rank in the Vulcan Space Fleet. You are hereby stripped of officer rank and reduced in grade to Crewman, First Class. Further, merely being excused from punishment by your victim does not absolve you of guilt for the crimes that you have committed. You have brought dishonor upon yourself, your family, your clan, and upon the Fleet. The dishonor that you bear for yourself, your family, and your clan is a private matter and none of my concern. The dishonor that you have brought upon the Fleet by your actions is very much my concern. You will report to your quarters aboard _Sehlat_, and remain there until you receive further orders. _Dismissed_."

#

"Friendship is never an imposition, Commander," Senek told T'Pol seriously. "I am honored to serve."

The airlock hatch between _Enterprise_ and _Sehlat_ opened, letting hot dry air sweep across their faces. T'Pol took a deep breath of home. It felt right somehow. Today of all days, she wanted to breathe the air of her home. Today, she would attempt to begin the process of making right one of her many mistakes. It was fitting that she do it in Vulcan air, feeling the weight of Vulcan gravity, in front of Vulcan witnesses.

The melders were waiting for them in the meditation chamber. It was the closest thing that the _Sehlat_ offered to a religious gathering place. It was here that all ceremonial rituals were performed. When they appeared in the doorway Sorsen, the senior melder despite his youth, made a gesture. Commander T'Lar stepped forward and nodded.

Trip stood up and turned to face the doorway. In the dim light she could not make out his features clearly. Only the single fire pot illuminated the room. But the bond carried his dread. She tried to project calm to him, to give him strength to carry him through what they must do. When she had told him, the night before, what she desired for the two of them his reaction had been considerably stronger than she expected. Even now, it was very difficult for him to maintain control. But he was giving it all he had. T'Pol wished she could offer him an encouraging smile.

With Senek escorting her, she paced down the central walkway toward the melders. Only when they were almost to the end did she see that Malcolm had indeed agreed to accompany Trip. She felt glad. It was a great relief for him to have at least one of his Human friends with him in this alien place, in the midst of this alien undertaking.

T'Pol and Trip turned to face each other. T'Lar spoke in English, in deference to their Human guests. "We are here in strict confidence. All matters to be conducted here today must remain private, known only to the ones here present, and recorded only in the sealed official records. If there be any here who cannot comply with this requirement, let them depart now." No one moved or spoke.

T'Lar inclined her head and stepped back. Sorsen reached out with two fingers of each hand and touched them to T'Pol and Trip's temples. He held them in place very briefly and dropped his hands. Then he turned and nodded to his associate. V'Lin was her name, T'Pol had been informed.

V'Lin stepped forward and repeated the gesture. She held the position slightly longer than Sorsen, but she too dropped her hands and nodded. They both turned to face T'Lar, but Sorsen was the one who spoke. "There can be no doubt of the matter. These two share the bond of mates. Their katras are linked, and only death can ever truly separate them." From the corner of her eye, T'Pol caught Malcolm flashing a massive Human grin.

Senek spoke up. "As this woman's father has passed, I stand in his stead. I challenge this man. By what right do you claim to be a worthy mate for this woman? Will you provide for her and protect her? Give her all of your loyalty and never abandon her? Will you forever hold her honor as precious as your own?"

"Yes," Trip's voice broke. He coughed and continued. "I will do all of it, or die in the attempt." Senek stared at him, and Trip glared right back at him. Finally Senek turned and told T'Lar, "I find this man acceptable."

"Then it is well," Commander T'Lar intoned. "By our most ancient laws, passed down from the time of the beginning, these two are wife and husband. Now and forevermore."

"There is one thing more," T'Pol told her. T'Lar raised an eyebrow. "We desire to exchange the vows of marriage for my husband's people as well. I ask that all here stand witness to our oath."

"Of course," T'Lar told her. "Proceed."

Trip took a deep breath. "I, Charles, take you, T'Pol, to be my lawfully wedded wife..."

#

Daniel stretched happily. "Oh man, it is good to be home." He grinned at Jenrali and took another bite of Sehlra's gromfruit tart. "Ummnph. I can't get enough of these."

"That's why I only make them every third moon cycle," Sehlra chided. She was in a good mood. The engines were in top shape and tuned like a sytha. The Vulcans had finally paid up on the bounty, which meant that _Lerteiran_ now had no less than fifty-five bars worth of credit sitting ready to tap. The new torpedoes were 30% faster than the old ones, the new sensors worked perfectly, and the phase cannon had 10% greater range after Malcolm adjusted it. The hull plating was in top shape. And everyone was back aboard the ship in one piece. Life was good.

"So what's next?" Daniel asked after he swallowed the last bite and looked wistfully at the empty pan.

Jenrali chuckled. "We have some people wanting to contract as passengers."

"Passengers?" Sehlra made a face. "Always more trouble than they are worth. We have to clear out the hold, heat it, install bunks. Then we have to find a buyer for the bunks afterward. And that supplemental head never works right..."

"They are willing to pay ten slips each for passage to Risa," Jenrali told her. She paused in mid grouch, calculating. Daniel whistled.

"So who are they?" Daniel asked. "Running from something or somebody?"

"I doubt it," Jenrali told him. "It's a bunch of those pleasure girls. They figure that now they're free, they're going to set up shop on Risa and make themselves rich."

Sehlra made a face. "You want us to take on a cargo hold full of whores? What are you thinking, old man? If they don't stick a knife in all our backs while we sleep, they are likely to spread every disease in the quadrant all over the ship. We just got the boy healthy as it is, now you want to have him sick again with half a hundred different fevers?"

Daniel sighed. "Sehlra..."

"Give the lad some credit," Jenrali protested.

"Credit? He won't have any credit left, and neither will we by the time they finish skinning him," Sehlra maintained. "You think a young man, a young HUMAN man is going to be able to resist a hold full of whores all the way from here to Risa?" She snorted loudly. "Don't be an idiot."

"Now hold on here," Daniel started to protest. Only the divine could divulge what might have proceeded from that point, because the comm link pinged and announced, "Incoming message. Incoming message."

"I'll get it," Daniel offered, and made his escape while the getting was good. He clambered up the ladder to the control room with pleasant ease, having gotten used to heavier gravity lately. The comm was still blinking when he sat down and keyed in the acceptance code.

He read the message with a growing sense of disbelief. "Oboy. If Sehlra was antsy about the whores, what will she say about this?" A mischievous look crossed his face. "But as long as I'm not in the line of fire, it sure will be fun to watch."

He rapidly opened a channel. "_Sehlat_, this is Johansen aboard _Leirteran_. We are open to discussion, or at least I am. However I believe that this requires a face to face meeting. If you wish to discuss the matter you are welcome to come aboard any time within the next two hours." He listened carefully. "Affirmative. We will expect you within 32 minutes. Johansen out."

He shut down the comm unit and put up the ear piece. For some reason he couldn't stop grinning. Daniel stepped over to the stairwell and called down, "Jenrali! Sehlra! Put on a pot of Vulcan tea! Commander T'Lar is coming over in half an hour to talk business!"

#

The cup shattered against the bulkhead. Daniel leaped and grabbed Sehlra from behind in a bear hug. "Come on now, take it easy," he pleaded.

"I knew this was not a feasible plan, Commander," T'Riss pointed out. "The woman fired a pulse rifle at me the last time I came aboard. And then I was trying to offer her fifty bars of latinum."

"You had just attacked Daniel," Jenrali pointed out. "For which I am afraid Sehlra still holds a grudge."

"Which is precisely the reason that I desire to have T'Riss serve her punishment aboard this vessel," Commander T'Lar replied calmly. Sehlra suddenly froze.

"Punishment?" She said with a curious note in her voice. She shrugged Daniel off and stepped closer to the galley table.

"Punishment," T'Lar replied firmly. She looked at Daniel, then glanced between Jenrali and Sehlra. T'Riss kept her eyes averted from everyone.

The commander continued. "As you are no doubt aware, Mr. Johansen dropped all of the charges against Crewman T'Riss."

"He what?" shouted Sehlra.

"He what?" shouted Jenrali.

They turned to stare at Daniel simultaneously. "What were you thinking, Lad?" Jenrali demanded.

"Well. I." Daniel floundered. "I just..." He backed up and raised his hands.

T'Lar continued. "Regardless of Mr. Johansen's motives, I am left with the duty of responding to her actions. Since there will be no legal retribution, I must assign an appropriate administrative punishment. This is quite a challenge, since the regulations do not specify the proper administrative punishment for an offense of this severity."

"So you want us to punish her for you instead," Sehlra said with relish. She started to smile.

"In a sense," T'Lar admitted, "but only in a sense. What I desire more than anything else is for Crewman T'Riss to gain a more extensive understanding of, and affinity for, non-Vulcan people. I believe a significant portion of her behavior is due to her complete lack of empathy for anyone who is not Vulcan. It is my sincere hope that by living and working with members of other species, she will learn tolerance and understanding."

"And you're willing to pay us for this?" Jenrali stayed focused on the important details, as always.

"Certainly," T'Lar told him. "We have estimated the standard expense involved in food, water, air, and general maintenance for a Vulcan female aboard a ship of this class. We are offering to reimburse you five times this amount per diem for the duration of Crewman T'Riss's stay... in addition of course, to her normal duties aboard. It is understood that she will be under your command and subject to the normal requirements of a crew member."

"Where would we put her?" Daniel wondered.

The two Andorians looked at each other. "We could share quarters for a while," Jenrali offered to Sehlra, "as long as you promise not to snore too loudly."

"I get the top bunk," Sehlra declared, in a tone that brooked no argument. Jenrali chuckled and twisted his antennae in submission.

"Then we are agreed?" T'Lar looked around the room and received a series of nods. "Crewman T'Riss will gather her things and report for duty at your convenience."

Sehlra told her, "Be here by 1900 tonight. We have a lot of work to do getting that hold ready for our... passengers." She snorted and looked from Jenrali to Daniel. "Between the two of you, and the situations you get me into, sometimes I think I should toss the pair of you into the hold and feed you with a stick."

TBC


	5. Chapter 5a

**The Lerteiran Chronicles**

**Episode Five: Dangerously Beautiful**

**By Blacknblue and 2Distracted**

**Genre: Action Adventure and just a tad of romance **

**Rating: PG-13 **

**Disclaimer: We don't own the Star Trek universe. We just go there to play. Honest. We do, however, own our original characters and story ideas. You are welcome to borrow them, as long as no money changes hands. If we can't make anything from this, nobody else gets to either. **

**Summary: _Lerteiran's_ taken on passengers. Are they the meek and frightened ex-slaves they appear to be, or do they have another agenda? **

######################################

The screwdriver vibrated in Daniel's hand as it rotated the last titanium screw into the frame of the bunk bed he was assembling. The faint buzz of the matching device in T'Riss' hand as she assembled another set of beds on the other side of the high roofed chamber provided a backdrop for his thoughts. There were no other sounds in the chilly cargo bay. T'Riss wasn't much for small talk, especially lately.

He wasn't complaining, though. She'd had a lot to digest in the past few days. It was understandable that she'd be uncomfortable in his presence. If he was perfectly honest with himself, he had to admit that it was great to finally have a crew member aboard who was even more junior than he was. So far, he'd resisted the temptation to order T'Riss to clean the head or go for coffee, but the day was young, and she had a lot to make up for.

He got up from where he'd been kneeling on the cold metal deck plates, walked over to the stack of crates in the corner, grabbed the crowbar from the top of the stack and tried to pry the lid off yet another crate of disassembled bunk bed bits. He wrenched upward heroically, but the tip of the crowbar slipped out of place, skittering over the polymer surface while the container remained firmly closed.

"Shit!" he groused. "These damned things could survive orbital re-entry without breaking open!"

"Would you like some assistance?" asked T'Riss politely. She'd finished the set of beds she'd been working on, and now rose to join him. He eyed her suspiciously, but could detect no condescension in her manner. He had no doubt, though, that she would consider his instinctive reluctance to ask her for help a primitive and illogical response to the situation. He knew it was illogical. Despite her petite frame and smaller stature, she was certainly a lot stronger than he was. It still went against the grain.

Daniel studied T'Riss's blandly expectant expression for a moment, and then handed her the crowbar without comment. She looked at it for a second with a puzzled expression, then, to his surprise, set it aside and turned toward the pile of boxes. Lifting a crate, full to the brim with titanium and easily weighing half as much as he did, she carried it smoothly away from its fellows and placed it on the deck. Hooking her fingertips beneath the edge of the lid, she tugged. The top came off easily. She pushed it toward him without a word. Then she opened a second crate in the same way as he stood there with his mouth agape and lifted it to one shoulder to carry it to her assembly area on the other side of the chamber. He watched her hips sway as she walked back, remembering with a suddenly dry mouth the way she'd looked wearing next to nothing in Grigor-Tel's quarters the day they'd first met.

_Damn. She's handy to have around,_ was his principal thought once he'd closed his mouth. Then he smiled just a bit, despite everything. This was going to be a very interesting trip.

#

Sehlra made one last adjustment to the newly modified thermostat set in the wall by the cargo bay doors. Surely a temperature of a full twenty degrees above the freezing point of water would be sufficient to satisfy their new passengers' unnatural need for warmth. Even if it wasn't, it would have to do. It was impossible to heat the hold any more without installing additional heating units, which were expensive. They might be well supplied with latinum at the moment, but there was no point in wasting it on frivolities.

"This way, please." Jenrali's voice echoed in the short passageway leading from the loading ramp to the cargo bay entrance. She turned to find him leading a motley assortment of veiled beings into the ship from the space station's loading dock. It was fortunate that the boy genius from _Enterprise_ had finally managed to stabilize the station's power core, otherwise they would have had to ferry their passengers by shuttle, an inefficient and expensive waste of time and labor. As it was, the docking fees were still considerable. She comforted herself with the knowledge that they were being compensated quite generously for their trouble.

A silent procession passed her by on its way to the cargo bay. All she could see of most of it were swathes of multicolored diaphanous silks, out of which peeked wide and frightened looking kohl-rimmed eyes of all shades and descriptions, set within strips of facial skin varying in color from pale white to ebony to green. To her chagrin, there was even a blue one in the bunch. She counted thirteen of them in all.

Only one person went unveiled. Possessing shoulder length, shining black ringlets framing a smooth, classically beautiful face, with kohl-accented lashes so long they brushed porcelain cheeks, the person was also, most emphatically, male. He smiled shyly at her, the only one of the group to even acknowledge her presence, and then sank gracefully to his knees before her on the deck plates with his head bowed. His lean muscular body, almost adolescent in its appearance because of its hairlessness but unmistakably mature, was clad in a brightly patterned silken vest, open to expose his chest, and a pair of loosely flowing almost transparent white silk pants with a tiny pair of silver briefs beneath. He was the most breathtakingly lovely thing she'd ever seen.

"Good morning, Mistress. How may I serve?" asked the young man in an earnest and musical tenor. Sehlra just stared down at him, swallowing. Then she scowled at him for good measure. He lifted his head and smiled enticingly. It was then that she noticed his eyes. They were the pupil-less black on black of the Betazoid telepath.

_Sweet Mother! He knows!_ She felt her face flush in humiliation.

"Sehlra, this is Damin. He's our passengers' chosen spokesperson," said Jenrali in an amused tone. She turned to look at her old friend. He was grinning at her in a knowing way. The old bastard knew her weaknesses entirely too well. She scowled at him, too.

"Don't they have any other clothes?" she asked Jenrali brusquely, gesturing at the others and pointedly ignoring Damin's greeting. The women were already huddled in a group for warmth in the center of the thinly carpeted converted cargo bay. Damin, despite being nearly nude to her way of thinking, didn't seem to mind the cold. Or perhaps he was enjoying it. He certainly seemed to be enjoying something.

"Their luggage is outside on the loading dock," Jenrali answered, rolling his eyes and smirking. Sehlra just nodded in acknowledgment and brushed past both men, headed for the dock with all due haste. "You may need some help carrying it all in!" called Jenrali after her.

Sehlra paused at the airlock, staring at the mountain of trunks and suitcases in dismay. She sighed heavily, and then stepped out to pull the first one off the stack.

"Please let me take that for you, Mistress!"

She turned to find Damin, looking fetchingly distressed by the idea of her exerting herself, holding his hands out to take the suitcase she'd chosen.

"I'm fine, boy! Leave me alone... and don't call me 'Mistress'. The name's Sehlra," she told him flatly. His face fell in disappointment at her words, and he stepped back submissively to allow her to pass. She couldn't help but feel just the tiniest bit guilty. Here was a young man who apparently literally lived to serve, and she was being very cruel to him. So she relented, just a little bit.

"If you want to help, you're welcome to grab the next one and follow me, son. I'll show you where it goes." Damin smiled brightly at that, and turned to lift the heaviest of the trunks to one shoulder. Sehlra stopped involuntarily for a second to admire how his muscles rippled beneath his skin as he did so. The sight sent a shiver up her spine. He was a living work of art.

Damin turned back toward her with his load and looked at her expectantly. She exhaled heavily and turned to trudge up the ramp with the suitcase straining her arms to the limit of their strength. _This is going to be a very long trip,_ she thought bleakly.

#

Damin surveyed their assigned quarters critically. They were considerably less opulent than what he'd become accustomed to in the years since his departure from Betazed, but allowances had to be made for space travel and the preferences of his current employers. At the very least, the future promise of an independent commercial enterprise on Risa made up for a great deal of relative discomfort.

The women had each claimed a bed for themselves while he'd been busy loading luggage, leaving him with the choice of beds immediately to either side of the door to the bathroom, probably destined to be the busiest spot in the room. The fact that it apparently hadn't occurred to any of them to assist with the loading process spoke more about their pampered condition than about any physical weakness they possessed. A couple of them were no doubt stronger than he was. Watching them try to share a single makeshift bathroom for ten weeks was going to be very amusing.

He'd been dismayed at first that the others had chosen him to be the spokesperson for the group. He'd counted on being able to remain invisible. Blending into the background, becoming as unremarkable as a piece of statuary or furniture, was his specialty, after all. It's what made him so useful to his employers. The fact that he'd always derived sexual and personal satisfaction from being submissive to the will of another person was irrelevant to them, but it made his work enjoyable, and so everyone was happy.

He knew the girls too well, though, and understood completely why they had chosen him. Perfectly comfortable in the privacy of their all-female world, they were so accustomed to being under the command of a male in public that they'd jumped at the chance to put him in charge once they'd discovered he was coming along. It was an Orion cultural thing, he supposed, transferred even to the non-Orions in the group after years in slavery in Syndicate space. Women stayed in the background, running things behind the scenes. Men spoke in public. It was the way things were here, and the precise opposite of how things were done on his father's home planet. He was ill-suited to the role, but felt sorry for the girls. They trusted him. He was one of them now. And so now he was in the forefront of the group, subject to the intense scrutiny of the crew of this vessel at a time when he needed to be free to work in the shadows. It was an unfortunate situation, but not insurmountable now that he knew how susceptible the ship's engineer was likely to be to his influence. There would be less need to hide if he could get her on his side.

Damin smiled wryly as he recalled the surge of desire he'd sensed from Sehlra when she'd first caught sight of him. The expression on her weathered face had made her look ten years younger. She obviously considered him a child, though. The first order of business would be to remind her that Betazoids aged more slowly than other races. He doubted that she was more than a decade or two older than he was, a perfectly acceptable age difference within his own culture, where powerful older women took younger consorts as a matter of course.

She was the most powerful person on board. Even the ship's captain deferred to her. And she enjoyed being in charge; he could tell. His blood warmed just thinking about it. Not only that, but she wasn't half bad looking for an Andorian of her age. _I'm going to enjoy this trip,_ he thought with satisfaction. Sehlra definitely had potential.

#

"This is the Andorian Trading Consortium Ship _Lerteiran_ requesting departure clearance," said Daniel into his headset in a businesslike tone. He was manning the tactical station and communications simultaneously while T'Riss took over the helm. In view of the danger they were in just traveling through this area of space now that the Nausicans had put a price on their heads for their role in the Grigor-Tel incident, it seemed a wise precaution to have the most skilled hands on the ship at the weapons controls. Daniel was also quite effective at communications. He seemed almost Vulcan in his mannerisms when dealing with ship's business, T'Riss thought.

"You have clearance, _Lerteiran_," responded the dispassionate voice of the Vulcan manning the traffic control station. "I am transmitting your departure vector now."

T'Riss noticed that Commander T'Lar had wasted no time replacing the Orions with her own people in strategic locations like security and port traffic control. It was a logical precaution. The Orion space station was almost completely evacuated now, its role in the commercial ventures within this area of Syndicate space virtually non-existent. Without a base for refueling and re-supply, the Nausican raiders who'd preyed on the trade routes on the outskirts of the surrounding systems were going elsewhere, but the Orion kingpins who controlled the Syndicate and collected tribute from the very same Nausicans weren't complaining. They were too fearful of the Vulcans' potential response to any objections they might make. The result was greater safety for honest travelers in the entire sector. T'Riss approved of the result, if not the means. She'd never liked the idea that a large number of innocent civilians had died in order to save her from captivity. It couldn't be helped, though. What was done was done.

"Coordinates received and course laid in, Captain," said T'Riss calmly. Daniel glanced back at her and smiled briefly. She found it very puzzling how he'd seemed to put the past aside when she came aboard as crew. She envied him the ability to move on. Her past actions still made falling asleep difficult at night. Meditation helped, but remorse and shame were her constant companions. Her inability to express them made her uncomfortable in Daniel's presence, but the habits instilled by her Vulcan upbringing were too strong for her to overcome. Not only that, but she was fairly certain that Daniel would eventually find constant apologies tedious in the extreme.

"Take us out, then, Crewman T'Riss," Jenrali told her. "Ahead one quarter impulse."

#

While _Lerteiran_ was making her way away from the station and setting a course toward Risa, the Romulan stealth ship _Aehallh_ orbited cloaked about an as yet unnamed planet within the nearby nebula.

"Commander! Sensors show the Andorian ship is leaving the vicinity of the station," reported Subcommander Llahir at tactical.

Commander Sienae turned to her second in command. "Are you certain that he's aboard?" she demanded. She'd already wasted nearly two years of her life trying to chase down her rebellious offspring. The boy was a weakling, but he was clever, she gave him that. Retrieving him would redeem her in the eyes of her superiors, who'd long considered her unstable and unreliable despite her success in creating a controllable telepath. She'd done the near impossible four decades before by the simplest means imaginable. She'd borne him herself.

Creating him had been the easy part. She'd certainly found his conception pleasant enough. His father, a powerful telepath from one of Betazed's largest organized crime families, had been pitifully grateful to her after his "rescue" from the Nausican pirates who'd destroyed his ship, so grateful that he hadn't even noticed the drug-induced mental shielding that had allowed her to deceive him.

Handing the child over to his father for training within the "family" ten years later had nearly gotten her arrested for treason, but the child's father had proven loyal, and had trained him well before being eliminated along with the rest of his household in the raid that the Tal Shiar had staged to recover the young man once his usefulness had been established beyond a doubt.

The Tal Shiar had gotten twenty years of usefulness from her son before he'd gone rogue, allowing her to ride the boy's coattails to a command of her own despite the less than stellar opportunities she'd had for advancement in the usual ways. His usefulness was at an end now, though, and so was her life if she failed to find him and eliminate the threat he posed. The frustration she felt over his elusiveness was taking its toll. She'd already killed two of her previous first officers in fits of temper over their inefficiencies. Fortunately, Llahir's knowledge of the fate of his predecessors was keeping him on his toes. This was a good thing, as she was running out of competent officers to take his place.

Llahir dropped his eyes at her challenge, searching his sensor console with great concentration before responding to her question. He met her eyes confidently. "Yes, Commander. He is aboard. I am certain of it."

Sienae nodded, turning toward the view screen. "Pursue them, then. Wait to overtake them until we are through the nebula. I want to be out of reach of the Vulcan cruisers and the Earth ship before we attack."

#

Sehlra checked her plasma flow readouts. There it was again. An almost imperceptible variation in the plasma flow to the port nacelle. She growled and walked over to the reactor impatiently, flipped up the cover on the main dilithium readout panel and keyed in a sequence of commands.

There it was. The same as last time and the time before. It was back again, that same tiny variance in the flow pattern at the crossover bypass. She and Trip had spent two days hammering away at the cursed thing, and Sehlra would have sworn on her favorite baking pan that they had fixed the problem, but apparently not.

"I owe the boy an apology," she muttered. Trip had guessed that it was caused by a submicroscopic imperfection in one of her crystals, but Sehlra would have none of it. Looking at the situation now, she was forced to acknowledge that there was no other possible explanation.

It was not as if the problem was serious. She had served aboard warships that went into battle after battle with far worse issues. It just irritated her that after all the work they'd put in, and with everything else working flawlessly, this one thing should still be defying her.

"Mistress? I mean...Sehlra? Is something wrong?"

It was the pretty boy, Damin, again, slightly more appropriately dressed this time in a pair of emerald green knit pants and a lace trimmed white long sleeved shirt which, although form fitting, at least covered enough skin to be decent. She felt herself getting prickly and swallowed it down. He didn't deserve to get his head bitten off just for asking if something was wrong.

"No. Nothing's wrong. What are you doing in here? This area is off limits for passengers." She made sure to put a stern note of warning into her voice, deliberately ignoring the enticing way his hair looked when it was all tousled the way it was. Her eyes narrowed as she wondered how he'd managed such a wind-blown look in the middle of the vacuum of space.

He looked abashed. "I'm sorry. I didn't know. I was hoping you would permit me to spend some time with you." He smiled prettily and actually batted his eyes. "I'm just so tired of being trapped in the same room with all of those girls. They never shut up!" he said, flirting with her so blatantly that there was no way for her to be anything but amused at his antics.

Sehlra snorted and chuckled. "I can imagine. All right. As long as it's just you, I suppose I can put up with it. Sit down somewhere and stay out of my way. I have work to do," she told him brusquely.

"Will you let me help you?" he pleaded. "I've been trained in basic mechanical work. I could at least fetch tools for you. Please?" His deep dark eyes reached across the room and caressed her. She blinked and shook her head, irritated with herself.

"Just sit there," she told him shortly. He sighed, looking disappointed, and obediently planted himself in the only available chair. Sehlra turned her back resolutely and went after a micro-calibrator. Her imagination was running away with her.

But by the Mother, it had been a _long_ time since...

No. She firmly put it out of her mind and concentrated on work. That plasma flow needed recalibrating. That was all she was interested in. That was all. Everything. Absolutely.

When she turned around to walk back to the reactor, she caught him staring at her with a hungry expression. She stiffened and marched toward the access panel without acknowledging him. Maybe letting him stay wasn't such a good idea after all, no matter how decorative he was.

#

"I have to say," Daniel told the other two with a grin, "These new sensors are a joy to use. I had no idea Human ships were using sensors this good nowadays. My people have made a lot of progress in the last twenty years."

"That they have, lad," Jenrali noted approvingly. "Though that young woman who was over here finishing up the job while you were being doctored said they picked up a few hints here and there from salvaged wrecks." He grinned at Daniel's surprise. "Nothing wrong with that. The laws of salvage are clear and solid. Have been for centuries."

"But I never expected them to be better than the original Andorian ones," Daniel marveled. "These beat the old sensors in both range and sensitivity."

Jenrali smiled, amused. "You didn't think my people mounted military grade hardware on cargo craft did you? Remember that these new sensors you're playing with came off a warship. Just like the new phase cannon is a lot more powerful than the original disruptor. And I," he went on with satisfaction, "am not the least bit unhappy about those hull plating upgrades either. When Humans pay off a debt, they pay in full."

"Whoever she was, she did a good job," Daniel said, continuing to run through a complete scan of the surrounding area on all bands.

"Her name was Anna. She is Trip Tucker's second," Jenrali told him, chuckling in recollection. "Fine lass. Had some fire in her, too. Sehlra came up here and tried to push her. You know how she is. Anna wouldn't take it. She pushed right back, hard. By the time we got to the station the two of them were tight friends. You need to find yourself one like that."

Daniel replied gloomily, "The last time I found one like that, her father had her brothers turn me into a lumpy red smear across the deck plates."

T'Riss blinked and turned to glance across at Daniel, but said nothing, Jenrali noted. An Andorian female would have come right out and asked the boy what happened. So would a Human, Jenrali suspected. He smiled wryly and shook his head. He'd noticed Daniel eyeing the Vulcan girl in an appraising manner. Evidently he'd decided to let bygones be bygones, and despite her bland Vulcan facade, Jenrali had to admit that the girl was very attractive.

Jenrali made a disapproving noise. "There's a procedure to this sort of thing, lad. I don't know Human customs, but I do know that every race has their own specific way of going about it. You need to get the girl's family on your side if you can, and you need to follow the standard procedure if you want to get anywhere. Learn something about the culture of the woman you're interested in and follow her rules." T'Riss glanced back at the two of them, obviously very interested in the direction the conversation was taking, but averted her gaze to her console as Daniel looked up to reply.

"Not likely," Daniel told him. "Human women aren't plentiful out here. If I do meet one, odds are she's already taken. I'll probably die a bachelor." He smiled self-deprecatingly, not noticing the way T'Riss avoided his gaze.

"Keep your mind open, lad. You never know when a surprise will come along," Jenrali advised placidly. He shot T'Riss another quick look. Actually, she wasn't a bad looking girl at all if you discounted the ears and coloring. Would it even be possible for a Human and a Vulcan to mate? He had never heard of it happening, but that proved nothing. Daniel was right about one thing. Human women were as scarce as good ale out here. The Mother knew it had to be hard on the boy, going so long between women on some of their extended runs. He really did need a mate.

He'd have to discuss it with Sehlra. She probably wouldn't like the idea much, although, come to think of it, now that T'Riss was crew Jenrali had a feeling that the Vulcan was likely to be the least objectionable female on board in Sehlra's eyes. No woman was good enough for her boy, but at the very least his overprotective partner would prefer one who wouldn't bankrupt Daniel in exchange for her favors or give him a social disease. if Daniel was thinking about T'Riss it might keep him away from the professionals.

Only time would tell. Biology was already starting to point Daniel in the Vulcan's direction. Maybe it would be enough to let the Mother work her magic with just a few small nudges now and then. The young Human would have a lot of work ahead of him, though, trying to charm his way through T'Riss's Vulcan reserve. She didn't seem easily charmed.

#

Damin couldn't get to sleep. The Andorian ship maintained a standard diurnal schedule, like most humanoid craft, and it was deep into the night shift. He sighed and turned over again, vainly seeking a comfortable position. At least most of the women had finally stopped talking, or toned things down to an occasional muttered remark. The bunk was nothing like the feather filled cushions at Natolya's, but he had slept on far worse. During training at his father's camps, he had been taught to sleep on bare ground without complaining. There was really no good reason for him not to be snoring like a baby.

He couldn't stop thinking about Her. Damin squeezed his eyes tightly together to hold in the tears, but it never worked; they always managed to escape anyway. Why couldn't She leave him alone? Even in his dreams, She tormented him. All he had ever done was try to please Her. And now...

He gritted his teeth. There was no reason for Her to be disturbing his dreams tonight. He was on his way to a new life on a new planet where She would never find him. Not even She would dare seek him on Risa. One of Her kind would be far too obvious there. Once his current employers were satisfied with his work and he'd been paid accordingly, he would contact his father's kin connections and offer his service as a House member. They would never refuse a blood relative. After Her treachery to him and his father, they would gladly offer him cover and a new identity.

Meanwhile, this current assignment bid fair to be the easiest money he had ever made, especially with that tasty lady engineer on board. Damin started to loosen up a little. Maybe he could even persuade her to...

The ship rang like an ancient temple gong. A massive impact threw Damin out of the warm and comfy nest he'd made of every blanket he could find, trying to compensate for the totally inadequate mattress provided with his bunk, and sent him sliding halfway across the cargo hold. Screams of surprise and terror started secondary aftershocks and nearly burst his tortured eardrums. He fought his way out of the blankets and scrambled to his feet. The screeching from his suddenly hysterical roommates was deafening, and he'd finally had enough.

_**"SHUT UP!"**_

It felt so good to let it out that he seriously considered doing it again, just for the pleasure of it. A stunned silence fell and every eye turned to stare at him. Sheer habit caused them to obey a male voice, but it wouldn't hold them long. He hurried to continue, "I will go and find out what's happening. Stay here and stay quiet until I discover what's wrong."

They started talking again, naturally, but at least they kept it to a low level this time. Damin pulled his short black satin robe from the bedpost, shrugged into it, and tied it securely around his waist, since his usual sleeping attire wasn't exactly practical for anything but bedroom activities—and he was _cold_. Then he marched over to the hatch and pried it open, determined to get out of there. If something serious was wrong, the last place he wanted to be trapped was in a cargo hold full of panicking pampered puffwits.

#

Jenrali came awake instantly and grabbed the edge of the bunk, turning a helpless spill into a controlled roll. He landed on his feet and smacked a hand on the comm. "Control Room! Report!"

_"Control room, T'Riss here. We are under attack. Three ships. Appear to be Nausican fighters. Attempting evasive maneuvers."_

"Get us out of here," he ordered. "And keep dodging. Do not try to fight until I get there. Out." He was through the door before she managed to acknowledge the order.

#

Daniel pounded along the walkway and dove headfirst through the ladder well. He grabbed a rung and swung himself around in mid-fall, then started dropping hand over hand down the access ladder toward the engine room. Right after the echo from the first hit started to fade, Daniel was sure he detected a high pitched whine seething through the deck plates, working its way through his heels and up into his back teeth. Not good. Priority one - see if Sehlra needed help preventing them from blowing up.

He dropped the last two meters to the engine room deck in a crouch. Sehlra was scowling and working furiously on the control panel for the port plasma flow. That frilly little man-whore, whatshisname, was spraying a fire extinguisher at various hot spots around the room and looking haggard. He would have been a hilarious sight in his shiny little robe with his hairless legs sticking out from under it if the situation had not been critical.

"Nok Doan? (Do you need anything?)" Daniel snapped out in Andorian battle dialect.

"Slen! Kernlu!" (I am fine! Haul your ass up to the Control Room and quit wasting time!) she replied impatiently.

Daniel turned and leaped. He started scaling the ladder like a monkey, hitting every third rung and accelerating as he went. His head cleared the Control Room hatch just as Jenrali was dropping into the main pilot's seat and T'Riss was halfway toward Fire Control.

Seeing him emerge, she shifted course and headed for the co-pilot's chair instead. "Did you send a distress call?" Daniel asked her.

"I have not had the opportunity," T'Riss admitted. Suddenly the deck tilted thirty degrees and everyone grabbed a handhold. The inertial dampeners started complaining as Jenrali sent the ship into a spinning dive. Daniel managed to finish scrambling into his seat and somehow got the belts fastened. He hit the panic button.

"Distress! Distress! This is _Lerteiran_. We are under attack by..." He took a swift glance at the sensors. "By three ships. We need immediate assistance. Repeat. This is _Lerteiran_ requesting immediate assistance. We are under attack by three ships and in dire need of assistan- _SHIT!"_

Daniel dropped the mike and grabbed the fire controls. He frantically keyed in a series of activation codes and manually adjusted the targeting array. The crosshairs lit up and flashed over to sweep across a blinking dot. The array moved back and forth several times, returning to the dot faster each time, before finally settling down to a steady glow. Daniel fired the phase cannon. Half the fire control board lit up and hummed for three seconds. Then the blinking dot disappeared.

"You got him, lad. Nice shot," Jenrali complimented him. "I dodged the other torpedo, but that one stuck like damp ice." He pushed forward on the controls and the engines started moaning.

A sharp crackle sounded through the comm. _"__**Lerteiran**__. This is __**Enterprise**__. We are on the way. Continue to transmit a location signal. __**Sehlat**__ is also en route. ETA for __**Sehlat**__ is one hour, 11 minutes."_

"Greeeaaat," Daniel spat. The ship quivered from another near miss. "This is getting old. If I had wanted to join Starfleet, I would have stayed on Earth."

"Quit complaining, lad. They're Nausican aren't they?" Jenrali pointed out.

"You have a point," Daniel allowed. He bent forward and started scanning for targets. "All fighters. It doesn't look like they're very well coordinated, either. Surprise, surprise."

"Maybe I can lead them in circles and have them ram into each other," Jenrali suggested humorously, twisting the ship into yet another stomach wrenching maneuver.

As the artificial gravity stabilized, T'Riss swallowed hard and muttered, "I am beginning to understand Mr. Johansen's distaste for Nausicans." Both men chuckled.

#

Subcommander Llahir reported, "The freighter has sustained minor damage to one engine so far. They are taking evasive action."

Commander Sienae felt like screaming in frustration. She hammered her fist down on the arm of her command chair. "Green Alert! All hands to battle stations! Move to intercept those Nausican fools - attack speed ahead." She fumed in absolute frustration. After all this time and effort locating the boy, was she to run the risk of losing him at the last breath to a pack of gibbering Nausican barbarians? Not likely. She needed his body intact, or at least intact enough for undeniable identification, in order to redeem herself to the Tal Shiar.

The helm officer reported, "The Andorian ship has reversed course and started back toward the Orion station."

"They are broadcasting a distress message," Llahir added. "At this range the Vulcans will certainly intercept it, and most likely the Humans as well."

Sienae felt the heat of unbearable rage working its way up her spine and neck, spreading a scalding flush over her cheeks. _"Kill those Nausicans NOW!" _

"Approaching weapon range on the trailing Nausican," the helm reported. "Establishing target lock."

"Torpedo away," Llahir said. The viewscreen displayed a flare. "Target destroyed," he announced with satisfaction.

"Moving to intercept the leading Nausican," the helm said quickly, conscious of his commander's gaze drilling a hole between his shoulder blades. "Target lock achieved"

"Kill them." The note of raw animal hunger in her voice sang like knife edge across bone.

"Torpedo away," Llahir said quietly. He waited. He swallowed and winced. "Missed. Loading second torpedo."

The noise Commander Sienae made would have caused one of the great predators of their ancestral planet to flinch. "Hold fire on that torpedo. Since you are plainly incompetent to hit anything with one, I see no reason to waste them," she sneered. "Helm, move closer to intercept. Take us to within disruptor range. Let us permit the subcenturion an opportunity to redeem himself on the guns," she ordered with obvious relish. Llahir stood stonefaced at his station. Commander Sienae smiled at him knowingly. She was about to order him to violate direct orders from the Praetor, orders forbidding the revelation of a Romulan presence in this sector of space. And there was nothing he could do about it—or at least nothing he had the courage to do, Sienae knew. It was occasionally useful to have a coward as second in command.

"By your command," the helm officer intoned formally. His hands moved rapidly over the controls and _Aehallh_ leapt forward. Llahir turned and grimly readied himself for this test. Sienae watched the Nausican fighter grow larger on onscreen. Finally the helm officer announced, "Within disruptor range."

Llahir did not even bother to announce anything. He simply fired. The dropping of the stealth ship's cloak was automatic, not delaying for a millisecond the column of devastating energy which ripped across space and tore the guts out of the smaller ship, spilling its vital organs - crew, engines, and life support system - into the merciless grip of space. The beam raked its way down the length of the craft until it struck the main reactor core, which detonated. The main screen went dark automatically to prevent blinding the observers. When it cleared again, nothing was visible but a swirling cloud of dust and debris, and _Aehallh_ was once again hidden from all sensors.

"Target destroyed," Llahir reported emotionlessly. Sienae did not offer a word of approval, but she stopped criticizing.

"Commander," the helm officer said, "The remaining Nausican has broken off the attack and turned to escape into the nebula. The Andorian is still proceeding toward the Orion station at warp 3.75. Long range scans reveal the presence of two ships approaching from the direction of the station. _Sehlat_ is in the lead and closing at warp 6.63. If both the Vulcan and the Andorian ships maintain course and speed they will rendezvous in 27 minutes."

Sienae squeezed her eyes tightly shut. _"No. Not again."_

"Which ship do you wish to pursue, Commander?" the helm asked tentatively.

She spoke between locked teeth. "We dare not destroy the Andorian ship with a Vulcan witness this close. Their scans have probably detected us already as it is. Pursue that Nausican and crush him. At least we can have that much satisfaction."

"By your command," the words came in chorus from both of her officers as they bent to their tasks in relief.

_"It is only a temporary reprieve, my son,"_ she thought vengefully. _"Enjoy your borrowed time while it lasts."_

#

"Damin? Are you all right, boy?" Sehlra's voice was uncharacteristically gentle, but Damin jumped when she laid her hand on his shoulder. He blinked and focused. It was difficult, because She was right outside. And She was _really_ angry. He looked at Sehlra hesitantly and crossed his arms, shivering, standing there in the middle of the engine room covered in soot and grime, dressed in nothing but satin and a wisp of lace.

He could sense the older woman's concern and protectiveness, and his instincts told him to cling to her for safety. Unfortunately, no matter how much he wanted to tell Sehlra everything so that she could help him run and hide, he knew that telling his would-be protector about his current predicament was likely to get them all killed. His mother didn't respond well to direct confrontation, and he'd known Sehlra just long enough to be certain of one thing. If the straightforward Andorian knew that a Romulan stealth ship traveled a mere half-kilometer on the other side of her engine room bulkhead, direct confrontation was exactly what would result.

"I'm just tired, I guess," he told her, rapidly recovering his equilibrium as he sensed the distance gradually increase between the _Lerteiran_ and his pursuers. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves, and then smiled lazily at her, saying jokingly, "I'm accustomed to staying awake when everyone else is sleeping, but I usually don't have to do it standing up." He was exactly the same height as the woman he was intent on seducing, and his eyes met Sehlra's squarely. His face sobered, his eyelids half-closed as he gazed into her eyes with deliberate sensuality. She froze as if trapped by his gaze. Her pupils dilated and her respiratory rate doubled. Her lips parted, and for a moment he thought she would say something...

Then she took a shaky breath and licked her lips before nodding briskly and stepping away from him.

"Very well, then..." She cleared her throat and turned back to her console, her cheeks flushing cobalt. "I appreciate the help, young man, but you're free to go clean up and get some sleep." She busied herself with the console, assessing the damage to her precious engines. Damin found her obvious embarrassment endearing. She was trying so hard not to take advantage of him.

"I'm not as young as you think I am, Sehlra... and you don't have to try so hard to be noble," he told her. She stiffened, but said nothing. He eyes remained fixed on the console in front of her. He smiled wryly and headed toward the exit to get some clothes. Now that all the excitement was over, the room was really unbearably chilly dressed as he was.

"Nobility is overrated, warrior woman," he called casually over one shoulder. "I'd rather be taken advantage of. It's much more fun." Then he grabbed the ladder and headed toward the cargo bay. He could sense her conflicted interest as he made the climb—and her sincere wish that she could seek oblivion that evening with something she enjoyed—something she apparently had no access to at present—to distract herself from thoughts of... him.

Damin chuckled. It wasn't ale or any Andorian drug she longed for. Her thoughts dwelt on a substance called "chocolate". Apparently it was a Human vice she'd picked up somewhere. It was curious that he'd never heard of it before. He'd thought himself intimately familiar with all such things. Maybe the Human crewman would be able to tell him how to get some to give to her as a gift. A gift would focus her attention, remind her of him each time she saw it—each time she tried to use it to prevent herself from fantasizing about the one who'd given it to her—creating a closed mental and emotional loop with Damin at its center, a trick his father had taught him. He replayed his words to her in his mind as he arrived at the cargo bay doors, fervently hoping he hadn't frightened her off by being too forward. It was a calculated risk, but his father's training had always served him well in the past.

"_A powerful woman gets bored easily,"_ his paternal parent been fond of saying, _"So do the unexpected. You'll keep her attention longer."_

#

Raijiin closed her eyes wearily and rubbed them, wincing as her fingers touched the bruising still present around her eyes and her bulbously swollen nose where the Vulcan Starfleet officer had hit her during her last escape attempt. She'd greatly underestimated Commander T'Pol's capabilities. She would apparently not be given the opportunity to do so again.

The Denobulan doctor had repaired the bones of her face with his fancy equipment, but the soft tissue, according to him, needed time to repair itself. She had no reason to doubt his word; he'd seemed sincere, but it was still very inconvenient. She was accustomed to pain, but the alteration to her appearance would no doubt limit her ability to influence others. However temporarily she might look like one of the species of varicolored nocturnal animals she'd been fond of as a child on her home planet—so long ago that she'd forgotten the name of the creature—her ability to affect the behavior of others began with their attraction to her physical beauty. She sighed. Oh, well. It couldn't be helped. Her influence didn't work on Senek anyway, and he'd been keeping her isolated from everyone else on board.

_It's too bad there aren't any Tellarite males aboard the __**Sehlat**__,_ she thought wryly. _They think any female with compatible genitalia is beautiful._

She rubbed her fingers together, shedding fragments of protective dressing as she did so. The skin of her fingertips was pink and unscarred underneath. At least her frostbite appeared to be healing.

The Vulcan script on the screen of the padd she was reading swam briefly before her eyes before coming back into focus. She'd ceased to wonder at that point about exactly how Senek had managed to teach her to read and speak Vulcan fluently with a single mind meld. He'd just done it, along with whatever else he'd done to her that made her thoughts slip around corners whenever she tried to make plans to escape from her comfortable quarters aboard the _Sehlat_. He'd given no explanation other than that it was "logical that she comprehend the language of her employers".

Employers. An interesting choice of terminology. Oddly enough, everything Senek had given her to read so far seemed to imply that the Vulcan Security Directorate's official position was just that. She was employed—indefinitely—and, to her amazement, entitled to a subcenturion's salary and benefits, with future opportunity for advancement. She'd just become a career Vulcan military officer. And Senek was her immediate superior, not to mention her handler, jailer, and babysitter. It was hard to tell with him, but she had the impression that he was less than pleased by how things had turned out.

She looked up from her copy of the Vulcan Security Directorate Officer's Field Manual as she sensed Senek's approach down the corridor toward the cabin they shared. Evidently intended for occupancy by a high ranking officer and his or her attaché, the quarters they were occupying were less spartan than she would have expected for a Vulcan vessel. It helped that she was sleeping in the larger and more luxurious sleeping chamber, but she had no delusions that the bed choice had anything to do with her comfort. Senek's bunk was in the antechamber. She'd have to pass within a meter of him to leave the cabin during their shared sleep shift, which explained his choice of sleeping arrangements. During the work shift, her mental compulsions, maintained by a constant mental link which Senek renewed each morning, would not allow her to leave the cabin unless Senek was with her. She wasn't a prisoner, though. Of course not.

He entered without activating the entry tone. There was no reason to, she knew, but she still found it annoying. With the link between them active, he was well aware of exactly what she was doing and knew in this instance that she was merely reading, but he had no compunctions about violating her privacy regardless. He'd demonstrated that the first night she'd arrived on board when he'd entered the bathroom and prevented her from hanging herself from the clothing hook with a strip of toweling. Raijiin still wasn't sure herself whether she'd just been trying to get into Sickbay with its reduced security precautions or whether she'd really been traumatized enough by everything that had happened recently to want to kill herself. Senek had seemed to think it was just a ploy. He was probably right. Nothing seemed to fool the hard-nosed Vulcan security agent. After all the rummaging around he'd been doing in her mind lately, he probably knew her intentions better than she did.

And now she had good reason to stay alive. She'd never had it so good with any of her previous owners. Disposable income of her own, paid medical and personal leave, retirement benefits, fully paid medical treatment—the Vulcans were unbelievably generous. There would no doubt be a catch eventually, but for the time being Raijiin had decided to take full advantage of the situation.

"_Sehlat_ has received a distress call from _Lerteiran_," he told her briskly. "We'll reach the rendezvous point in less than thirty minutes, and the Security Directorate has a mission for us." His face was calm, but Raijiin could sense his unease.

_He doesn't trust me,_ she thought. _He thinks I'm not ready._ She couldn't blame him. There was no logical reason for him to have any confidence in her abilities or in her loyalty.

"What do you want me to do?" she asked. Her tone was deliberately cooperative and reasonable. If this was going to work, Senek had to learn to rely on her and trust her. Only then would she have any chance at all of getting away from him.

#

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed entered the tactical room. Hoshi - _Lieutenant Sato_, he reminded himself - was so deeply into her task that she didn't even acknowledge his presence. Her hair had fallen into her face, and she was chewing on a strand of it as her fingers flew over the keyboard.

_She's so bloody cute when she's completely absorbed in her work,_ he thought, grinning. Then he stifled the thought as completely inappropriate.

He'd been having to do that a lot lately, and it didn't help that the newly promoted lieutenant fancied herself in lust with him after their work together on Raijiin's capture. Or at least that's how it appeared to him after the way she'd been "innocently" showing up in the gym dressed in overly skimpy non-regulation workout clothes every single time he'd had the chance to work out in the past two weeks. Not that he was complaining, mind you. He'd begun to look forward to his time in the gym with unusual eagerness. He had no idea how she did it, though. He'd even swept his quarters for clandestine surveillance devices, just in case.

"What's our ETA to the rendezvous, Malcolm?" she asked without taking her eyes from the screen.

"Roughly three hours. What have you got?" he replied. _Lertieran_ had transmitted the sensor data Hoshi was analyzing in a scrambled pulse only moments after making contact with _Enterprise_ at Captain Archer's request, in the hopes that rapid analysis of the data might grant a better opportunity to pursue and communicate with whoever it was that had helped _Lerteiran_ defeat the Nausicans. If they were friends, they weren't behaving like it, running away and hiding like that, but if they were enemies, why would they reveal themselves in order to help the _Lerteiran_?

Hoshi appeared to be listening intently. On the screen in front of her, a vessel suddenly appeared out of nowhere, hovered for a fraction of a second while weapons fire—it appeared to Malcolm to be disruptor fire—was discharged from emplacements at the bow of the vessel, and then vanished. The ship had feather-like markings - either painted or inlaid he supposed - on the undersides of what appeared to be wings on either side of a fuselage large enough to accommodate several decks of living quarters. It was obviously a warp-capable vessel intended for long distance travel.

"What is it?" he asked, fascinated, but he thought he knew already based on just that momentary glimpse. It resembled the ship they'd encountered in the first months of their mission, in the minefield that had almost destroyed _Enterprise_.

"Romulan, I think," Hoshi replied succinctly. "There's a coded local transmission in there as well. I'm trying to figure out where it's targeted," she told him in a distracted tone, still listening.

"A transmission? Who's out here to transmit to? We're less than a hundred thousand kilometers from the nebula. A transmission would never get far enough through the interference to get to any of the surrounding systems," said Malcolm in a perplexed voice.

"Shhh!" Hoshi told him, raising a hand to silence him. So he closed his mouth and waited, staring at the screen, which at that point showed only stars with the nebula as a backdrop. The room was completely silent for several seconds. Then the door opened and Captain Archer breezed in.

"What have you got so far?" he inquired curiously - and loudly.

"Shhh!" answered Malcolm, holding up one hand in unconscious imitation of Hoshi, with his eyes fixed on the screen. The captain gave him an odd look.

Hoshi sat back, blinking in surprise, and then looked up at the two men with a perplexed expression. "I can't understand the transmission...yet," she told them, "But I've figured out where it was going." There was a pregnant pause. Archer gave her an expectant and slightly exasperated look. Malcolm sighed. Sometimes he wondered if she did things like this just to torture them, but she seemed unaware of the tension in the room. She brought up a screen covered in completely incomprehensible code. Or at least it was incomprehensible to Malcolm. She pointed to a group of squiggles.

"These are Romulan transmission codes, I think," she told them in a hesitant voice. "If I'm right, they're coordinates identifying the destination of the transmission based on a reference point in the Romulan's home system. And if these symbols represent the point of origin of the transmission, which we know, and this is a reference to the nearest star system, then we can triangulate..."

"Just tell us, please, Lieutenant," Archer broke in, in a resigned tone. Hoshi turned to look at them with a serious expression.

"The transmission was intended for the _Sehlat_, Captain," she told them with more certainty. "The Romulans are trying to contact the Vulcans."

#

His contact hadn't yet replied to his transmission. The implications were disturbing. It had taken the man now known as Llahir nearly a decade to gain his current posting. The _Aehallh's_ tour of duty was nearly complete. Even if he managed to survive the capriciously murderous rages of his current commanding officer, he'd never get closer to Vulcan space than he was now. If his contact refused to make the connection, he'd never get home again.

He sat in the command chair, despite the fact that he was not scheduled to be in command this shift. Sienae always got hungry after a temper tantrum. She'd eat something rare and bloody washed down with copious amounts of ale, and then go to the exercise area to burn off the calories on the treadmill before going to her quarters to sleep for the rest of the shift. She was terribly vain, and refused to gain an ounce despite her age, her mostly carnivorous binge eating habits, and her relatively sedentary lifestyle. She disgusted him, but decades of successful masquerading allowed him to project the well-practiced image of respectful submission appropriate to his position, at least while anyone else was watching.

The flashing light in the arm of the command chair, where he'd routed incoming transmissions for safety's sake upon taking command, was immediately extinguished with a touch of one finger. Another touch sent the coded burst to his quarters for later perusal, and a third erased all record of the incoming transmission from the log. It was an efficient program, and he was justifiably proud of it, nearly as proud as he had been when the program he'd written to trigger a coded burst transmission during the first microsecond after decloaking had performed without difficulty earlier in the shift. He allowed himself to feel relieved. His contact had responded.

Relief. Pride. He'd had decades to explore all of the emotions available to him, and had enjoyed all of them. The primary disadvantage of returning to Vulcan to finally make his report on Romulan military deployment would no doubt be the need to return to traditional disciplines. At least he'd managed to find an honorable way to use his unfortunate tendency toward emotionalism, one which would provide a more than adequate retirement income if he had calculated his back pay correctly. And if not, he had a backup plan in place. He'd developed a taste for a well-basted bird over the years, and had taught himself to cook. Vulcan cooking was so unimaginatively nutritious. It was about time for a culinary revolution. Certainly someone somewhere had an employment opportunity for a Vulcan chef who was willing to experiment.

#

Daniel said, "Confirm docking connection secure, _Sehlat. _Airlock security codes have been released. Your repair crews are welcome to come aboard at will." He sagged back against the seat. "This is getting very old." He gazed tiredly at the front view screen, which sported a spectacularly dull image of the barren, rocky planet around which they now orbited, third in a series of five dull, barren and rocky planets within the system _Sehlat's_ navigator had chosen as a convenient rendezvous point with _Enterprise_. They'd gotten to it under tow from _Sehlat_. Hopefully they wouldn't be leaving the same way.

"I'm feeling even older," Jenrali sighed. "Head down to check on our passengers, lad. Calm them down and make sure they don't go wandering about. Then see what you can do to help Sehlra. The lass and I will do what we can here until the Vulcans come aboard."

"Aye, Captain." Daniel spread both hands on his console and levered himself painfully to his feet. The adrenaline had drained out like water from a bathtub, leaving nothing but fatigue and sore muscles behind. Daniel took a deep breath and slowly eased himself down the access ladder one rung at a time. His foot stepped off the last rung and landed on the deck more heavily than he expected. The shock ran up his leg, into his hip, and all the way up his back.

Daniel winced and eased his other foot down carefully. He wondered if _Enterprise_ would be willing to loan him the use of one of their hot showers. He could surely use it before he staggered back to bed. Whenever he managed to _get _back to bed, that is—maybe sometime tomorrow, if he was lucky.

He stopped and pressed the door buzzer to announce himself before grabbing the handle. After all, there were thirteen women inside. Then he remembered the fourteenth passenger was male, and all of them were experienced sex workers, and decided to heck with it. He reached for the door lever, pressed down hard until the seal cracked, then twisted and pulled the door open along its track.

Welcome warmth blew into his face as he stepped inside, accompanied by a kaleidoscopic cloud of womanly scents and murmuring voices. Daniel had to stop and close his eyes for a moment to let his overwhelmed senses adjust. The pheromones from multiple races hit him in the gut like a swift kick. It had really been a _long_ time.

"Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Johansen?"

Daniel opened his eyes. The frilly man stood looking at him curiously. What _was _his name anyway? Damy? Damit? No...

"Damin, actually," the guy told him with a smile. "How may I serve?"

"I just came in to make sure everyone was all right," Daniel cleared his throat uncertainly. How had he? Never mind. No doubt he had guessed from Daniel's expression. "Also wanted to thank you for the help with the fire extinguisher. Passengers aren't required to pitch in like that, but we do appreciate it."

Damin grunted, the most overtly male sound that Daniel could remember hearing him make. "If I'm going to die, I would prefer to die doing something, not sitting on my hands waiting for it."

A glint of reluctant respect kindled in Daniel's eyes. "I hear ya," he told Damin. "Waiting was never my strong suit either. Is everything all right here? We've docked with the _Sehlat _if you need any medical help."

"None of us are hurt... physically..." a voice purred behind him. Cold shivers flowed up Daniel's spine and caused his vision to blur. Meanwhile a hot flash exploded in the center of his belly and flowed down into his scrotum. A small green hand started stroking his forearm. "But we were so very frightened," the voice continued tremulously. "It is so good to have the presence of a strong man like you to comfort us."

Daniel's mouth was as dry as Vulcan's Forge in high summer. He could barely breathe, and speech was out of the question. His unfocused vision caught a glimpse of Damin grasping the woman's wrist and firmly removing it from his arm. As from a distance he heard, "Behave yourself, Nat... Behave yourself, Loya. This is neither the time nor the place for you to start collecting boy toys."

Daniel turned further and felt his heart lurch. She was lovely beyond belief. Never had a woman been graced with such beauty, such perfection of form. A living goddess stood before him, and all he wanted was to throw himself at her feet and please her. Damin glanced over and sighed. Then he grasped Daniel by his other arm and briskly escorted him out of the cargo hold. Daniel tried to hold his ground. He wanted to stay with his goddess. But it was hopeless. The frilly little fart was as strong as a Vulcan.

The cold corridor shocked Daniel into semi-wakefulness. "Breathe," Damin instructed him. "Just stand and breathe for a moment. The pheromones will fade quickly enough. She didn't have time to work on you that thoroughly."

Daniel shook his head and coughed. "Orion pheromones?" he wheezed. Damin nodded. "Shit. I've been in the brothels before, but it wasn't like this," Daniel gasped.

"She wasn't just trying to please a customer, she was trying to own you," Damin pointed out. "Loya gets bored easily. I think she decided that you would be an interesting diversion. I suggest avoiding her."

"No kidding!" Daniel glanced nervously at the door. "Uh, thanks again. I owe you one. I guess you're immune?"

"Yes," Damin's mouth twisted for some reason. Then he continued, "If you feel indebted, you can pay it back easily enough right now if you wish. I need some information."

"What information?" Daniel asked cautiously.

"Nothing classified," Damin looked amused. "In my culture it is traditional for a guest to offer a gift—just a token—to the eldest female host as a gesture of respect. After watching Mistress Sehlra during the recent battle, I am even more disposed to respect her. But I need your help."

"You want my advice on a gift?" Daniel asked him with an incredulous chuckle.

"Not precisely," Damin told him. He seemed strangely hesitant. "There is something that Humans make. It is called chocolate." Daniel smiled broadly.

"I follow you," Daniel said. "I don't have any myself. Between me and Sehlra, we cleaned out the ship's supply pretty quickly the last time," he told Damin regretfully. "But you might check _Enterprise _when she gets here. Ask their chef. Chocolate is used a lot in cooking. Failing that, I get the impression that their doctor knows everything about everyone on that ship. He could probably point you at someone who might have a stash they would part with for the right price."

"Excellent," Damin grinned with real gratitude. "In that case," he began, handing Daniel an antiquated looking padd he seemed to pull from thin air, "Perhaps you could put these items on the list of supplies you'll be requesting from _Enterprise_ when she arrives. The girls have asked that I speak for them in this matter."

Daniel took the padd from him and studied the screen curiously. In addition to "chocolate in any form, whatever can be spared", the list also included fourteen sets of warm clothes in various sizes, fourteen insulated blankets, and fourteen individual heating units designed for camping in arctic climates. He grinned. Sehlra's adaptation of the cargo bay apparently left something to be desired, although it had certainly seemed warm enough in there to him a few minutes ago. He looked back up at Damin and nodded affably. "I'll see what I can do," he said. Then he paused. A suspicious niggle began in the back of his mind. Casually he added, "And how are you and 'the girls' planning to pay for this stuff?"

"Oh... we have goods for barter," replied Damin airily. "Mostly fine silks and jewels...and failing that there's always barter in services."

Daniel chuckled and shook his head. "I'm not sure you ought to count on that being an option. _Enterprise_ is a military vessel on active duty. I'm pretty sure Starfleet has regulations about that sort of thing."

Damin looked surprised for a moment, and then he shrugged. "No problem. They'll just need to be specific about what's not allowed. I'll give guidelines to the girls. Several of them are skilled at therapeutic massage, and all of them can dance, sing, or play a musical instrument. I'm certain we'll find someone who'd like a private party or a back rub."

"Suit yourself," Daniel answered him, amused. "I'll make the offer. We'll see what happens."

"Thank you. If there was any debt, it is now in the other direction, Mr. Johansen," replied Damin.

Daniel made a disparaging gesture. "Forget it. Sehlra loves chocolate. After everything that's happened lately she deserves something to relax her. Speaking of which, I need to get to the engine room. If you need anything else, you know how to reach someone."

#

Damin watched speculatively as the younger man walked away. This one could be useful. He had already cleared Daniel, per his employer's instructions. The boy was exactly what he seemed to be, a young, somewhat naive young man with a painful past who was looking for someplace to belong, just as he had been before the Tal Shiar had gotten hold of him.

A pang struck Damin for a breath, but he fought it back down. Hopefully _Enterprise _would arrive soon. Now he had two urgent reasons to get aboard her.

Meanwhile, he had to stay close to other people and away from the Vulcans. The difference between a Romulan telepathic signature and a Vulcan signature was slight, but it was quite distinctive. To a half-Betazoid trained by the best operative that the House of Night had ever produced, there was no mistaking it. His mother had a Vulcan with her aboard that ship. Damin had survived too long to be willing to take unnecessary chances. V'Las had worked closely with the Romulans, and so had his High Command operatives. If the Vulcan aboard Her ship was one of the old High Command, and if that Vulcan still had connections aboard _Sehlat, _then he dared not let any Vulcan get near him.

Only his employers could protect him now. He prayed that the contact codes they had given him were accurate. Otherwise he could end up in a Human brig—which, come to think of it, might be the safest place after all. He sighed and went back inside the cargo bay to face the wrath of a thwarted Orion.

#

"Our proposed Romulan bait is _Damin_?" Raijiin called incredulously from the bathroom where she was changing. "Natolya's pretty little 'As You Wish' boy? Why would they want _him_?"

Senek paused in his briefing, amused despite himself by his new trainee's turn of phrase. He kept his face turned away from the open door to the bathroom. Raijiin seemed less concerned about privacy each hour that they spent together. It was possible at this rate that she would soon begin routinely disrobing in his presence, a prospect which was not as disturbing to him as it should have been.

At least she was no longer suicidal. He was no healer. It had taken him days of effort to effect the mood improvements that a melder/healder would have been able to do in hours, but he dared not expose an unsuspecting healer to her skills. Even suicidally depressed and closely guarded, she was a force to be reckoned with. Now that her mood was stabilized he had high hopes for her usefulness.

"Our contact did not provide that information," he replied, "but he seems convinced that should his commander become aware that the Betazoid is aboard _Sehlat_ and unprotected, she will attempt to abduct him, thus drawing her ship to within transporter range. We must convince the telepath to cooperate."

Raijiin emerged from the bathroom in full pleasure slave regalia. Senek stared for a second before recovering his equilibrium. He'd forgotten the visual impact of Raijiin in seduction mode already, even with her face still bruised and mottled, and had failed to prepare himself. He was getting careless.

"So why do you need me dressed like this?" she asked curiously, gesturing at the translucent silks she wore over her g-string. She smirked. "Just tell Damin he's been a naughty boy and spank his bottom. He'll follow you around like a puppy after that and do anything you want him to do. He really enjoys that sort of thing."

Senek raised a brow. "I believe you may have underestimated your friend Damin. If the Romulans want him, you can be certain that it's not because of his compliant nature." He paused thoughtfully. "Tell me... have you ever gotten close enough to Damin to read him?"

Raijiin looked taken aback for a moment. She considered his question.

"Come to think of it... no," she replied hesitantly. "I knew he was a telepath because of the eyes, but he always kept tight shields up, and Natolya always kept him separate. 'Reserved for special clients', she said. I always assumed that meant he was for her own specially selected Dom customers... ones she could trust not to damage him too badly." Her eyes widened. "But maybe that's not what she meant at all. Maybe she was using his skills the same way she was using mine."

Senek nodded. "That is my assumption. And there is something else. Our returning agent has informed me that young Damin has good reason to mistrust Vulcans." He paused, waiting for Raijiin to make the connection. It didn't take long.

"You think he'll trust me and be willing to cooperate if he thinks I'm just another ex-slave," she replied, finally seeming to understand. She sighed and shook her head. "But what if he doesn't? I doubt he's interested in what I have to offer."

"Then you'll have to convince him otherwise. You may promise him payment in return for his cooperation. As long as the sum isn't unreasonable, the Security Directorate will provide it. Failing that, you will have to meld with him and take control. We have no other options, and retrieval of our agent is of top priority," replied Senek emphatically.

Raijiin exhaled heavily, nodded, and then reached for her head covering, pulling it securely over her hair. It showed only a small portion of her face and her eyes, a precaution made necessary by the _Lerteiran_ crew's unfortunate familiarity with her appearance. Fortunately, she'd informed Senek, such head coverings were usual wear for women in her profession while in public in Syndicate space, and so her disguise would not be considered unusual. She turned and retrieved several colorful silken scarves from the chair beside her, wrapped a few securely about her shoulders and tied a few more at her waist, presumably to render her attire more appropriate for the corridors of a Vulcan vessel where the exposure of expanses of bare skin would be considered illogical at best. Then she just stood looking at him expectantly.

Senek raised an ironic brow at her and then gestured for her to precede him out of the cabin.

#

As soon as her shift on the bridge was complete, T'Pol proceeded to the tactical room to assist Lieutenant Sato with her task. It was logical to assume that two persons familiar with the Romulan language working together would achieve more than either working alone, and besides—she was curious. Trip had informed her that he was planning to assist with repairs on _Lerteiran_ that evening for the third time in as many weeks. Her new husband's after hours trip to the Andorian vessel were getting to be a habit, but at least it meant that she had more free time time now to indulge her curiosity.

T'Pol hoped that there would be no need to speak of the full extent of her knowledge, for the sake of both their peoples. If Lieutenant Sato had not yet discovered the similarities between the Romulan and Vulcan languages herself, she was not half the linguist T'Pol thought she was. Making some connection between the Romulan and Vulcan cultures was only a short step away after that, but T'Pol felt certain that Hoshi Sato was intelligent enough to understand the need for secrecy. The last thing that a person who'd devoted her life to fostering understanding between races would want would be to create a rift between her own people and their oldest allies by revealing secrets best left hidden.

She stepped over the threshold to find a very fatigued and frustrated looking linguist sitting at a console, staring angrily at a full screen of Romulan script as if it were deliberately and stubbornly refusing to reveal its secrets to her. T'Pol stepped up behind her and studied both the lieutenant and the screen dispassionately for several seconds.

The young woman seemed more focused on her work than she'd been for days. Since the success of their plan to retrieve Raijiin and Hoshi's subsequent obsession with gaining the attention of Lieutenant Reed, the Chief Communications Officer had enlisted the help of virtually the entire female crew complement of _Enterprise_ in her quest to keep herself constantly informed of the whereabouts of the ship's Chief of Security—all so that she could contrive to "accidentally" encounter him at every possible opportunity. They'd all made a game of it, apparently. T'Pol was certain that had she not been female, with access to the bulletin board in the women's locker room with its obscurely coded messages, she still would have no idea of the extent of the conspiracy. The men on board certainly didn't.

It was a puzzling dilemma for T'Pol from a command standpoint. Should she be reprimanding Lieutenant Sato for pursuing private interests while on duty or commending her for the improvement in morale amongst the female crew?

"May I be of assistance, Lieutenant?" she asked finally, when Hoshi failed to acknowledge her presence after several seconds. The young woman looked up in surprise, and then smiled ruefully. She glanced around the room, evidently to ensure that neither of the two ensigns who were assisting her with data analysis were within earshot, for her quiet response was unexpectedly frank.

"Are you here to help me or to convince me to keep my mouth shut?" she asked. T'Pol raised a brow. The girl was really quite remarkable.

"To help, of course. You're perfectly capable of comprehending the need for discretion without any assistance from me," T'Pol retorted blandly. Hoshi blinked at her, then cocked her head and gave the Vulcan a measuring look.

"Are you going to tell me why the Romulan and Vulcan languages have the same basic linguistic structure, or are you going to make me guess?" Hoshi continued softly. T'Pol pursed her lips, saying nothing. Hoshi half-smiled. "I would guess that you don't want me discussing my theories with my friends in xenolinguistics back on Earth..." she ventured.

T'Pol studied the young woman's face for several seconds in silence, and then inclined her head in acquiescence. "Perhaps we could discuss the issue once we've solved the mystery at hand," she offered.

"Which one?" retorted Hoshi.

T'Pol gestured at the screen. "That is neither Romulan nor Vulcan, despite the fact that it's in Romulan script," she said. Lieutenant Sato sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Yes, Commander. I realize that," she said acerbically. "I've been trying to figure out what it says for the past two hours. We're scheduled to rendezvous with _Lerteiran_ and _Sehlat_ in roughly forty-five minutes, and I still have no clue what this part of the message says or to whom it was directed." She turned back to the screen to bring up another portion of the Romulan transmission, seeming to forget her questions about the Vulcan/Romulan connection in her eagerness to address the translation. "This portion of the message is in Romulan script, but the language is Vulcan," she said. "When I tell the computer to render it phonetically in Vulcan I get this." The text morphed into a missive which was clearly directed at a recipient aboard the _Sehlat_. Its content indicated that the sender was eager to go to Vulcan and had information which he or she thought would be of military value.

"A Romulan defector?" T'Pol asked with interest. She read further and was forced to stifle a surprised exclamation. She exchanged an astonished look with Lieutenant Sato, who was smiling smugly.

"I _thought_ those were Vulcan Security Directorate codes," said Hoshi in a satisfied tone. "It's an agent, isn't it? One who's ready to come home."

T'Pol exhaled heavily as her eyes returned to the screen. Hoshi was correct, of course, but something was odd about the situation. This was not a pre-arranged pick up. The agent was initiating contact, which meant that he'd likely already been given up for lost and could logically expect a somewhat suspicious reception. The thought gave her pause. What if he wasn't certain of his welcome? She stepped forward and reached over Hoshi's shoulder to bring up the first screen—the one that Hoshi had not yet managed to translate.

"He's trying to escape the Romulans by any means possible," T'Pol murmured. "He must consider himself in danger." The symbols on the screen morphed as she typed. Hoshi watched with a curious expression. "I tried Orion, Tellurian and even Nausican phonetic renderings. Nothing regional matches," Hoshi said. The text stabilized finally and her jaw dropped. There were two messages there. Remarkably, the first was in Andorian.

"Now that's one desperate Vulcan!" exclaimed Hoshi.

"Indeed," agreed T'Pol. "This message was meant for someone on _Lertieran_.

_The Betazoid is in great danger, and so is your ship as long as he is aboard. If you want to live, get him to the Vulcans as fast as you can. They are the only ones who can protect him.  
An Ally. _

T'Pol raised a brow. What Betazoid? The message meant nothing to her. Hoshi reached for the console.

"If he's grasping at straws for rescue, he'll try to contact everyone in the area," she explained. The text morphed again. The second message was in English. The two of them read it in shocked silence.

"Is he asking what I think he's asking?" whispered Hoshi.

T'Pol cleared her throat. She read it again, but the words were unmistakable. Apparently the agent had spent too much time in the company of Romulans—or perhaps the Ferenghi had gotten to him. Either way, he was obviously compromised.

"He appears to be offering his information to the highest bidder," she confirmed with ill-concealed disgust. "He wants to know if Starfleet wishes to participate." Hoshi's giggle prompted yet another eyebrow raise. The lieutenant stifled her grin and sobered quickly. Then she grinned broadly again, as if she just couldn't help it.

"I think I like this Vulcan," she chuckled. "At least he's figured out a way to keep everyone from shooting first and asking questions later!"

#

"Ow! Dammit!"

There was a clang of metal on metal, and Daniel's aggravated exclamation reverberated out into the engine room from inside the plasma relay access shaft where he was working. Sehlra sighed. The two Vulcan technicians who were assisting her exchanged long-suffering looks. One of them even rolled his eyes.

"You all right in there, boy?" she called, concerned. Relative silence followed, punctuated by low volume grumbling which never quite reached true audibility.

"Yeah," responded Daniel wearily. "I just hit my head and dropped another tool." He sounded exhausted.

"Okay, son... that's it. You're done," ordered Sehlra briskly. "Get your butt out of my engine room and don't come back until you've had a meal and at least six hours bunk time."

Daniel's tousled head peeked out from the access panel. "Aw c'mon, Sehlra," he protested weakly. "You haven't gotten any sleep, either! The more hands we've got working, the faster we'll _all_ get bunk time."

Sehlra walked over to the stubborn Human and grabbed him by the scruff of the neck, pulling him bodily out of the access tube and back into the engine room. He was covered in grime and engine lubricant.

"I'm an old woman. I need less sleep. And I've got help," she growled at him. "At the rate you're going, you'll blow us all up. Sleep will be a moot point after that, I assure you."

Daniel rolled his eyes and rubbed the back of his neck, but all he said was an exhausted "Yes, ma'am" before handing off his data padd and tool kit to a waiting Vulcan. Then he trudged slowly to the exit and disappeared down the ladder. Sehlra stretched broadly, sighed in relief, and then winced as her back gave a twinge. No sooner had she decided that maybe the boy was right when Jenrali's grizzled and antennaed head appeared from where Daniel had so recently disappeared.

"We're docked and securely in orbit about the rendezvous point, so I thought I'd come and help," he told her. "I saw Daniel on his way to the galley, so I sent T'Riss to him. He looks so tired I'm afraid he'll burn up the galley if he tries to cook for himself," quipped the old Andorian. Sehlra chuckled. "I sent him out for that very reason, only plasma relays are a bit more dangerous to handle than a cooking pot," she replied wryly. She turned and headed toward her console to check progress on the repairs. Jenrali came up beside her, checked the list of things to do from over her shoulder, and then wordlessly got to work. Within moments they were working companionably side by side without saying a word. There was no need for discussion. The job needed to be done, and they both knew their parts in it after so many years together.

After several minutes, something occurred to Sehlra.

"You sent T'Riss to the galley to _cook_ for Daniel?" she clarified in a puzzled tone.

"Yes," he replied, sounding rather satisfied with himself. He knew very well what he'd asked the girl to do, Sehlra was certain. Preparing food for a member of the opposite sex was an intimate act for a Vulcan not employed in a food service occupation—an act usually reserved for mates and intended mates, and part of the usual courtship ritual. Exactly where Sehlra had picked up this tidbit of information was best forgotten, but she was certain that she'd discussed it at length over a copious amount of ale with Jenrali at the time.

Sehlra's eyes narrowed, and she stared at him suspiciously. "What are you up to, old man?" she asked. His eyes widened innocently as he picked up a screw driver and began loosening the next panel.

"The boy needed help," he said casually. "Would you rather I had asked one of the passengers to cook for him?"

Sehlra snorted and began working on her side of the panel. "You're being ridiculous. Daniel is perfectly capable of heating a mealpak without assistance." She glared at him. "Why T'Riss? Why now?" Jenrali grinned sheepishly and shrugged.

"The boy needs companionship, and he's well supplied with funds at the moment. I just thought a bit of a challenge might help him to keep his money in his pocket, that's all," he replied.

"A challenge," she repeated flatly, staring at him as if he'd lost his mind. He smiled back. And then she understood.

"You're trying to distract him," she realized. He nodded matter-of-factly.

"He's a healthy young man with healthy desires and his own very large share of latinum. I'm just trying to help him keep it," replied Jenrali. He turned back to the now open panel, coloring a slightly darker shade of cobalt. "A bit of advice you might also want to follow," he muttered under his breath. For a moment, Sehlra wasn't entirely certain she'd heard what he said correctly. Then its significance made her stop short and stare at her partner angrily. She scanned the room for eavesdroppers, but both of her Vulcan helpers were shoulder deep in access tunnels.

"And what is _that_ supposed to mean?" she growled.

Jenrali pulled his head out of the hole he was working in and stared back at her in surprise. Then he smiled warily and backed away from her, both palms up. His antennae curled inward and downward in placating supplication, transforming him instantly from her captain into her closest friend.

"Wait a minute! Don't get so defensive!" he told her lightly. "You're the one who was so disapproving of our passengers when they first came aboard. As far as I'm concerned they're just honest workers trying to make a living." He put his hands down, and his expression became concerned. "But I've seen the way you look at that pretty boy, and I don't want you to get hurt," he said sincerely. "Have your fun if you want to, but just remember who he is and what he's been doing for a living. He's in it for the money, Sehlra. If you forget that, you're setting yourself up for disappointment... and that's the last thing I want for you."

Sehlra blinked at him for a moment. Her vision misted over a bit. _Must be some contaminant in the air vents,_ she decided. She smiled wryly at Jenrali. "Never fear for me, my friend. A lover in every port, that's what I always say," she quipped. "I'm a bit out of practice, but I think I still remember how it's done."

#

Daniel squinted at the Starfleet mealpaks in his hands, trying to decide whether the tuna tetrazzini or the Salisbury steak would be least likely to come back up again. He finally settled on the steak, mainly because it was in his dominant right hand and therefore easier to shove into the heating unit. He shut the door, pushed the button, stuck the tuna back into stasis, and sat back down in a chair with both hands curled around a cup of steaming hot coffee. He was half afraid to drink the day old brew and too tired to make more, so he contented himself with inhaling deeply over the cup. Just the smell was delicious.

"I believe that coffee was made yesterday," said T'Riss warningly as she entered the galley. He blinked blearily up at her and made no move to relinquish the corrosive substance, so she took the cup from his hand. He whimpered softly in the back of his throat, following the coffee plaintively with his eyes as she poured it down the drain, but when she immediately turned to the antique coffee maker and began to make a fresh pot, he smiled and relaxed.

"I knew from the first that you'd be handy to have around," he told her with a weary grin. She raised a brow in response, but said nothing. When the food warmer's ready tone sounded, she activated the coffee maker's brew cycle, turned without comment, retrieved the mealpak, opened it, and set it in front of him with a fork. He began eating with gusto. It never occurred to him to wonder about the fortuitous timing of her arrival in the galley until she sat down facing him, without food or drink, and blandly began to watch him eat. The behavior was peculiar enough to make him stop shoveling food into his mouth, but before he could ask what she was up to without subjecting her to the sight of a mouthful of Salisbury steak mush, she spoke.

"Would you rather another beverage? Coffee may interfere with your sleep," she offered quietly. He squinted at her suspiciously, chewed twice more, and then swallowed.

"Ummm...don't take this the wrong way, but why are you suddenly acting like my mother?" he asked her.

"The captain asked me to make certain that you eat and sleep before going back on duty," T'Riss replied matter-of-factly. "It was a direct order."

Daniel sighed and sat back in his chair, still staring at her, trying to make sense of the situation. "I'm sure he didn't mean for you to wait on me hand and foot. Andorians don't do that. They're 'every warrior for himself'. I didn't think Vulcans did it either," he replied. T'Riss stiffened. Daniel sighed inwardly. Now he'd done it. After spending months as a slave, she was bound to be sensitive about it. He opened his mouth to apologize, but she interrupted him. Pushing back from the table, she stood abruptly.

"No. Serving you was my idea, but since it obviously offends you, I will leave you alone. Eat and go to sleep... Captain's orders," she responded coldly.

He should have left it at that, but he was so punch drunk from fatigue that he wasn't thinking, and he reached out, placing a hand on her bare forearm to stop her from leaving while she was still angry with him. He wasn't sure why, but it was important to him that she not be angry with him. At the skin-to-skin contact, her expression suddenly changed from one of cold disdain to fear, and she froze, wide-eyed. Her respirations accelerated, their eyes met, and for a fraction of a second he felt sheer panic and the sensation of being trapped with no escape, nowhere to hide. He pulled his hand away and the feeling faded.

"I'm sorry," he whispered sincerely. _For everything. For all that bastard did to you,_ he thought, but didn't dare say it. She blinked, took a deep breath, and her Vulcan facade returned. "Thank you for serving me dinner. I appreciate your help," Daniel continued politely. T'Riss swallowed, and then inclined her head in acknowledgement before beating a hasty retreat down the corridor. Daniel stared after her for a moment.

_What the hell was that?_ he thought in amazement. He'd never felt such terror in his life.

His time on Vulcan and his friendship with Stern had left him with no illusions about Vulcans' supposed lack of emotions. If anything, Vulcan emotions were several magnitudes stronger than Human ones. But normal Vulcans who weren't in the mating cycle didn't broadcast their emotions the way T'Riss just had—or at least the way he thought she had. And she was much too young for Ponfarr.

_That shit that Grigor-Tel was dosing her with must have really messed her up,_ he thought regretfully. It was tragic, really. No Vulcan could stand to touch her the way she was now. If she wasn't able to regain control, her only hope for companionship would be with someone who could tolerate the extremes of emotion she was radiating.

Daniel looked down at his now lukewarm dinner and took another meditative bite. The image of the way she'd looked in slave's silks the first time they'd met intruded upon his sleep starved brain, but he pushed it firmly aside. The last thing the girl needed was a sex-obsessed Human pawing at her, but she did need a friend. He could do that, he decided. Right after he got some sleep.

#

Raijiin's pulse began racing as soon as she set foot aboard _Lerteiran_. Even with her face safely hidden and the crew nowhere to be seen, just seeing the entry doors to the cargo bay where she'd come so close to death from hypothermia almost triggered a panic reaction. She felt Senek's presence inside her head. The usually annoying intrusion acted now as a safely net for her composure. He'd escorted her to the ship and remained at the loading ramp, but she could feel his reassuring strength lending support to her own.

There were no guards. A Vulcan work crew passed by, but ignored her. She approached the cargo bay doors and pressed the entry buzzer.

"Yes?" A woman's voice answered. She didn't recognize it.

"I've come to see Damin. I'm an old friend from the station. Can you ask him to come out, please?" she asked in a childish and exaggeratedly helpless voice. There was silence on the other side for several seconds, and Raijiin wondered whether someone had recognized her after all.

"Who are you? Are you a Vulcan?" asked a male voice. She recognized that one. Damin's lilting tenor was unmistakable. She forced a giggle.

"Of course not, silly! It's just me!"

Although she hadn't really answered his question, the giggle was apparently reassurance enough, for the door handle began to rotate, and soon it pushed open, revealing Damin's boyish face peering cautiously through the gap. He squinted at her hesitantly, obviously not recognizing what little portion of her face showed through the opening in her head covering. "May I help you?" he asked.

Raijiin glanced hastily in both directions before speaking. "I have a message for you," she whispered mysteriously, "But it's not safe to talk here. Is there somewhere more private?" She reached out to rest her hand on his where he held the door, and got a vague impression of suspicious curiosity before his shields slammed shut on her like a tritanium bulkhead. He shook his head in annoyance, and then pushed the door farther open.

"This way," he told her quietly, and let her into the chamber where she'd very nearly died only weeks before. Holding on to Senek's presence in her head like a lifeline, Raijiin stepped inside. Thirteen sets of eyes swiveled to focus on her. She recognized all of them. Some were more familiar than others.

She gasped. One set was very familiar indeed. _"Natolya! What is she doing here?" _Raijiin firmly regained control with the discipline bought by a lifetime of servitude. Her mind flew past a hundred possibilities before settling on the most likely. Knowing Natolya, she had no doubt sold Grigor-Tel out at the first opportunity, making herself as useful as possible to the Vulcans in every way she could think of. Thus, she'd bought herself leniency. Now she was making her escape from the station, and Orion space generally, before retribution could descend on her traitorous carcass. Raijiin's nerves started to settle. Typical of the woman.

Damin didn't allow her the time to decide whether she should trust the other women enough to reveal herself to them. Instead, he grabbed her by the arm, marched her across the room, newly carpeted now, she noticed, and easily thirty degrees warmer than the last time she'd been there, and shoved her ahead of him into the small bathroom. He shut the door and locked it right in the girls' curious faces, and then turned on her in aggravation.

"What are you doing here? The last thing I'd heard you were in Human custody for war crimes, and now you just show up and try to read me without my permission! Who in the name of the Five Rings of Betazed do you think you are?" he demanded angrily. "I can't afford _any_ extra attention right now. You're going to get us all killed!"

Raijiin just stared at him in amazement during his rant. The Betazoid's boyishly hairless face was twisted in anger, transforming him from an innocent into a dominant male. Apparently Natolya's cuddly little tribble had sprouted teeth. Or most probably he'd had them all along and had fooled them all. She pulled off her head covering and smiled enticingly at him. His jaw dropped. Excellent. Now this was something she could work with. She didn't get the reaction she was expecting, though.

"What by the Six Sabers did they do to you?" he asked in a surprised voice. Raijiin's hands went up to her face in self-conscious reflex. She'd forgotten about her injuries. She shrugged self-deprecatingly.

"It's not as bad as it looks," she told him, embarrassed by his reaction. His expression was one of morbid fascination as he inspected her.

"Humans did this?" he asked. Raijiin was on the verge of denial when she realized the ideal opportunity that had presented itself. Trapped between a Romulan pursuer and his suspicion of Vulcans, Damin was no doubt considering asking the Humans for help, but she and Senek needed him aboard the _Sehlat_, not the _Enterprise_. Her choice was clear. It was time for some judicious stretching of the truth.

"I was trying to escape. I didn't get very far," she admitted with a rueful grimace. "Fortunately, the Vulcans negotiated for my release," she added casually. "I'm working for them now." Damin looked back at her in obvious disbelief.

"Vulcans... employing a pleasure slave," he replied, his voice dripping incredulity.

"Vulcans employing a _telepath_," she countered. Her eyes met his levelly, without any attempt at seduction. "And my employers have sent me both to warn you that you're in danger and to offer you protection."

"Protection?" he asked warily.

"We have it on good authority that there's a cloaked Romulan vessel in the near vicinity whose commander wants you dead," she told him matter-of-factly. "Our agent on board has strongly recommended that we offer you asylum."

Damin offered neither confirmation nor denial. "Asylum? In exchange for what?" he asked. Raijiin's respect for him was increasing by the second.

"In exchange for your help in retrieving the agent who's responsible for saving _Lerteiran_ in her recent battle with the Nausican pirates, incidentally saving your skin in the process, " she replied dryly. He gave her a half smile in response.

"So. I'm to be Romulan bait," he told her. "And if I decline this 'asylum'?"

Raijiin shrugged. "There's always the Humans, I suppose," she answered diffidently. "If they take a liking to you, they might help you. If they don't... well..." Her voice trailed off. She could almost see his imagination working overtime as he looked at her swollen and discolored features.

#

Damin moodily escorted Raijiin back out of the cargo hold, brusquely deflecting her continuing efforts to seduce him into following her back to _Sehlat _then and there. Maybe she was telling the truth. Maybe. But Damin was not about to take the word of someone who had survived, even thrived, inside Natolya's as long as Raijiin had without careful consideration. He turned and walked back to his bunk, ignoring the playful teasing from the girls about his shapely visitor. Damin settled back against his cushions and cleared his mind for contemplation. His father had taught him to be methodical. He could still hear that firm, comforting voice. _"Don't let yourself become distracted, son. It is easy to confuse opinion with fact. Sometimes you will be tempted to regard your conclusions or other people's conclusions as facts, but do not deceive yourself. Cling to the absolute facts, always. Plan your actions based on facts. Only facts." _

What facts did he have? He knew that She had a Vulcan aboard her ship. He knew that the Vulcan High Command under V'Las had worked secretly with the Romulans – he himself had assisted Her with some missions related to this. He knew that the information he carried, if revealed to the Humans, could seriously damage the Vulcans' alliance with the Humans, and their reputation generally. He knew that his Human employers had acted in good faith toward him so far.

He knew that the Vulcans were trying to get him aboard the _Sehlat _where they would have complete control over him. Maybe they were sincere. Maybe it was a trap. All he had was Raijiin's unsupported word. He snorted derisively. And he knew that Raijiin bore the marks of a savage beating. She claimed that Humans were responsible. That bothered him. It did not fit his understanding of Humans so far. The limited information available to his father's House, the House of Night, indicated that Human authorities were professional and quite meticulous about their treatment of criminals. It was a matter of more than academic concern to an organized crime family, and they assembled such research concerning any race with which their people might come into contact. Nor did the young man, Daniel, strike him as particularly savage.

On the other hand, Raijiin _had _been arrested for war crimes. Perhaps the Humans considered the rules to be different in time of war. Many races did. Had she been taken by Klingons she would have had no chance of survival. Neither would Orions nor Nausicans have shown her any mercy at all. Even Andorians would certainly not have scrupled to apply force during interrogation, yet Andorians were as honorable as any race in the quadrant. And even Raijiin admitted that she had attempted to escape. Damin's mouth twisted. An escaping prisoner could not reasonably complain if they got scuffed a little during the process of recapture.

Assuming that she was even telling the truth in the first place, an assumption that Damin was not prepared to make at this time, something in her eyes and her tone of voice had shifted when she told him about her injuries. Many telepaths became so dependent on their mind talents that they neglected to cultivate sensitivity to body language. Betazoids, however, were primarily empaths rather than telepaths. Moreover, they cultivated shielding when in public to avoid overwhelming each other with an ocean of uncontrollable emotion. And Damin had been carefully trained to watch and respond to a woman's cues. Raijiin was hiding something, that much was certain.

He made his decision. He would try his assigned contact aboard _Enterprise. _If it went badly he could always appeal to the Vulcans as a last resort. On the other hand, if things went badly aboard the _Sehlat _he somehow doubted that the Humans could do much to help him.

#

T'Riss moved along the corridor stiffly, heading for her assigned quarters. Captain Jenrali had not specified any further duties for her after tending Daniel, and despite the ship's deplorable condition she felt a compelling need to meditate. Certainly she had already put in more than a double shift, and in the absence of orders to the contrary she was entitled to a short break.

Every muscle in her body was tense to the point of quivering. She recited the Disciplines silently to herself and regulated her breathing as she had been taught in childhood. _"Cast out fear," _she reminded herself. _"There is no logic in fear. Fear provides no benefit. Fear weakens and distracts. Nothing can be done until one has first cast out fear." _

Truly there was no reason for her to be afraid. Daniel Johansen was no danger to her. Even if he intended harm, he was only a Human civilian. She was a trained Vulcan Fleet officer. Well... an officer no longer. But her training remained. She could easily defend herself against any attack he might launch, she told herself.

She keyed the access code for her quarters and stepped through the hatch into blissful warmth. A shiver of relief made her slump. T'Riss walked over to her mat and took position in front of her meditation crystal. Since open flames were forbidden on _Sehlat, _most of the crew had adapted to using such crystals or similar alternate focal points. She relaxed her vision and permitted the refractions bouncing from the crystal's facets to blur and swim together. Her breathing slowed.

As her blood cooled, her logic returned. Embarrassment rose up to bring a flush to her face. She firmly settled herself and cast it out. T'Riss continued with the Disciplines and her breathing exercises until peace finally settled into her katra. It was necessary to confront the truth, however unpalatable, in order to deal with it. The truth was that she had behaved shamefully toward Daniel. He had done nothing to deserve her anger. She _had _been acting abnormally, and she had no idea why. It was only logical that he would be curious about her motives.

More to the point, her fear of him was illogical to the point of irrationality. If Daniel Johansen had meant to harm her he would have done so already. He had been given the perfect opportunity to claim revenge, and had refused it. She still did not understand it. She needed to understand.

It came to her finally. That was the source of her fear. She, herself, had not been able to endure existence until she had claimed revenge against Grigor-Tel for what he had done to her. T'Riss knew that her behavior had been a complete reversion to the savagery of her ancestors, and she would always bear the disgrace of it. But she could not imagine even trying to carry on her life while her tormentor continued to live.

Yet Daniel had simply forgiven her. He had said he understood her pain, and he forgave her. _How? _It was maddening. She did not understand. Was it because he was Human? How could these creatures do this? The greatest struggles of the Vulcan katra involved overcoming the bestial drives of anger and lust. Yet this Human, one of those that the High Command had always taught were simple barbarians, had cast out his anger seemingly without effort. _How could he DO this? _

Her heart rate was accelerating again. She closed her eyes and centered herself. She must continue to study him. Somehow she must learn to understand.

#

Whatever the mindslut had brought must have been engrossing. Damin was still deep in thought. Or maybe he had drifted off to sleep, she thought in amusement. Either one of them were perfectly capable of wearing someone out in the time they had spent in the bathroom together. She knew that for a fact. Natolya indulged herself in a brief memory of warm pleasure and stretched, then shook her head regretfully. No more. Damin had made it clear that he wasn't interested, and she wasn't about to go near that venomous bitch Raijiin again.

Natolya rubbed her thighs, smearing the cream along both legs and up her hips, over her belly and breasts. It soaked in swiftly, enhancing the natural glow of her skin while the faint scent complemented her pheromones. She smiled fondly. The tasty Human boy was going to be quite a delightful little morsel. As soon as Damin left she intended to slip up to his quarters. By the time he was awake enough to know what was happening, she would already own him. She suppressed a giggle with difficulty. And she had been afraid this trip would be boring.

Damin was stirring. Natolya shot a quick glance from the corner of her eye and lounged back on her cushions, affecting indifference. The man stood up and announced, "_ Enterprise _should be here in a few moments. I am going to wait at the airlock for the shuttle. Does anyone have a last minute request?" Typically, there were several girls who had discovered a dozen important things that they absolutely could not live without but had not bothered to think of until this moment. Damin was kept busy jotting things down until a tone sounded and the captain's voice announced that the Human's shuttle was docking at the starboard port. Natolya watched through slitted eyes as Damin finished up with his PADD and departed the cargo hold in evident relief, and finally permitted her lips to curve upward.

She waited what she judged to be enough time for Damin to reach the airlock. Impatience would permit no more. Natolya swung her still perfectly formed legs off the bunk and swept gracefully to her feet. Pridefully she adjusted her silks. _"Mature I may be, children," _she thought contemptuously, _"But I could still take a man away from any of you with a flick of my finger." _She raised her head proudly and glided toward the door. As she reached for the lock Arialee, one of her personal protégés from the brothel, squeaked nervously, "Where are you going? We aren't supposed to leave here!"

Natolya's lips twitched into an impish grin. She turned and put a playful finger across her lips and shook her head, giving the girl a conspiratorial look. Arialee looked scandalized but delighted. She nodded eagerly and giggled. Natolya gently twisted the handle and opened the door, peering out to confirm that the way was clear.

For safety reasons, a simplified diagram of the ship with escape routes had been posted in the cargo hold. Natolya followed the route from memory that led toward crew quarters. The captain's quarters were located farthest forward. Rumor reported that the two Andorians were sharing it – reasonable, Natolya thought. Why wouldn't they? There were two more. So her Human target was in one and Grigor-Tel's Vulcan concubine was in the other. Natolya shivered. She did _not _want to meet that Vulcan again.

But she did want the Human boy, very much. The edge of danger added an extra spice to the hunt. She shivered again, but it had nothing to do with fear. The cargo bay was not warm, but the rest of the ship was _bitter. _She glanced down. Well, it wouldn't do anything to hurt her efforts, as long as she found the boy before frostbite set in.

The ladder burned her hands, and her feet through the thin material of her slippers. She was relieved to get off of it. Now, was it this door in front of her or the door on the other side of the ship, around the curve of the corridor? One led to pleasure and satisfaction. The other led to certain pain, and possible death. She felt her belly muscles tighten with a thrill of giddy excitement. Natolya tip-toed closer. How could she know?

Ah... The Orion woman leaned close to the door handle and took a deep breath. She smiled happily. Yes. His scent was on the handle. This was his room.

The room was dark and silent. Only the crack of light from the corridor showed her the corner of his bed. Natolya had to navigate by scent, sound and feel. She closed the door by millimeters, shutting it silently. The air was thick with Human scent. Human male scent. Male pheromones. She stood for a while, inhaling blissfully, and felt her blood begin to heat. It was good. It was _so good. _She needed this badly.

Her eyes adjusted to the glow from a small panel next to what she decided must be the bathroom. She could barely make out the sleeping form of her prey. His deep, even breathing told her he was ready for her approach. Natolya took her position beside the bunk and began taking in and expelling deep breaths, all the while working her lower abdominal muscles. The Orion female endocrine glands responded on cue, releasing their load of enticing scent intended to draw in the nearest male to provide and protect. Daniel stirred and shifted position. She smiled when she heard his breathing quicken.

Natolya deftly dropped her silks and stepped out of her slippers. She ran a hand down her side in satisfaction, gently drew back the blanket, and hovered over him, allowing her pheromones to stupefy him as she drew his sweatpants completely off in one smooth motion. Her face lit up. _"Oh my." _He was naked beneath, and even tastier than she had hoped. Every delightful detail was plainly evident in the dim light. Also evident was the fact that her efforts were working. It was time to stop playing.

Natolya climbed onto the bunk and slid across Daniel's form with the effortless ease of long practice. He shook his head and grunted. "Wha-?" Natolya leaned forward and caressed his face with her cheek, overwhelming his exhausted senses with her presence. He subsided, stunned into compliance. She grinned and slid backward, groaning in satisfaction. The boy whimpered in pleasure as she took him. He reached for her and Natolya permitted it, enjoying the feel of his strong young hands roaming over her skin. So this was what Humans were like? This trip was definitely looking up.

#

Damin politely took leave of the young shuttle pilot who'd transported him to _Enterprise's_ shuttle bay and stepped into the receiving area. Behind him, blue-clad crew members began loading the shuttle with supplies, getting the small ship ready for a return trip. He greeted the MACO crewman who met him at the airlock, identifying himself and explaining that he had a list of requested supplies. The Human explained that Damin would require security clearance, and sent a call to his superior. While they waited Damin idly probed the young man, learning his name, his family background, his fiancee's name, her family background, his intense dislike of standing guard duty, and his carefully masked contempt for Damin and any other male prostitute - indeed, for any non-military personnel.

The man was as clear as lead crystal. Duty and honor defined his existence. Whoever had beaten Raijiin, it wasn't this one. The same integrity that he had sensed in Daniel Johansen was present in this one, but even more intense and purified. Were they all like this? If so, Raijiin had certainly lied to him. But no race was homogenous. There would have to be the usual range. And of course the Humans would have chosen their best and brightest to crew a vessel like this.

Which, on reflection, made Raijiin's assertion even less likely. She was, after all, working for the Vulcans who were certainly not above lying to get what they wanted.

Approaching footsteps rounded the corner to reveal two young Human males, both older than the guard, but not by much. The guard stiffened and recited the information that Damin had given him. Both men nodded, and the one with sandy blond hair told him, "Welcome aboard, Mr. Damin. We'll see what we can do about fixin' ya up. My name's Commander Tucker, this is Lieutenant Reed. I'm gonna be over on _Lerteiran_, seein' if I can give 'em a hand patchin' the old girl up again. I bet Sehlra is mad enough to chew stem bolts, isn't she?"

Damin couldn't help himself. The man's irrepressible good humor was too much. He chuckled and admitted, "I believe that she's less than pleased with the situation. If you have any Nausicans aboard, I recommend that they avoid her."

"If we had any Nausicans aboard, they would be in the brig," Lieutenant Reed growled.

"Malcolm's our chief of security," Tucker explained. "He'll take care of you from here. I'll probably meet up with you again on _Lerteiran_ before you leave. Nice meetin' ya." And with that, the man ducked into the shuttlebay and was gone. Damin turned back to face the security chief with anticipation.

Lieutenant Reed accepted the PADD and glanced over Damin's list. "Hm. I don't see anything here too extravagant. Let's take a stroll down to the Quartermaster's office and see what he can do for you."

"I thank you, Lieutenant," Damin inclined his head formally. "Ordinarily I would not impose on your generosity in this way, but extraordinary circumstances require extraordinary measures." Malcolm jerked slightly but did not quite lose his balance. He shot Damin a look. "Yes," slowly responding while Damin felt him going to battle ready. "I suppose that is always the case."

"I am sure you noticed the request for blankets and heaters," Damin chatted on glibly. "The passenger section of _Lerteiran_ is warmer than the rest of the ship, but still quite cool by Orion standards. The ladies are accustomed to a standard temperature of 31 degrees," he added with faint emphasis.

"I see," Reed answered, in a voice colder that _Lerteiran's_ engine room. "What is your particular preference, Mr. Damin?"

"I enjoy friendly conversation," Damin told him. "Particularly in a quiet place, where two comrades can speak without interruption."

Rage was building inside Lieutenant Reed, fast and hot. Damin's gut tightened and he started reviewing his unarmed combat training, just in case. Harris had warned him that this operative would not appreciate being reactivated, but he had not made plain just how much Reed would resent being contacted. For the first time he wondered if Raijiin had been lying after all.

Reed set his jaw. "Perhaps after we speak to the Quartermaster, you might care to join me in the mess hall. It's between scheduled meal times, so there will be very few people there, but chef will no doubt still have a few leftovers available. And we can check with him about your chocolate."

"A wonderful idea," Damin gushed with a broad smile. He saw Reed's expression and turned it off. He made sure to keep a carefully bland expression until they reached the mess hall and Reed summoned the chef from the kitchen.

"Hmm," the older looking Human scratched his head. "I've got a little bit of dark chocolate put back. What kind were you looking for?"

Damin explained, "I'm not entirely sure. I intend to offer it as a host gift to our Andorian..." He stopped when the man burst into laughter.

"Andorian, huh? Say no more. I thought you wanted some kind of fancy candy, or a prepared confection. If it's for Andorians though, all you need is the bare stuff. They like it pure, and as dark and bitter as they can get it. Hang on a minute and I'll bring you out a chunk."

Damin permitted himself a smile of satisfaction. This excursion was turning out well after all. The Quartermaster had been able to provide the blankets and heaters for which the girls were clamoring, and had promised to search for the other items to the limits of his ability. He hadn't even requested payment. And now Damin would be able to present Sehlra with her favorite indulgence. All that remained was defusing Lieutenant Reed's resentment. Damin confidently expected no difficulty in that regard.

Reed stiffly informed Damin that he would obtain a cup of coffee and find a table. After thanking the chef cordially for his generous portion of what looked to him like very hard mud, Damin casually strolled over to join the security chief. He paused beside the table until Reed abruptly waved him to a chair and snapped quietly, "Let's get on with it."

Damin sat down with dignity and told him, "I was given your name as an emergency contact. I apologize for this disturbance, but I really have no choice. My life is in danger and I seek asylum aboard _Enterprise." _

Reed leaned back and looked suspicious. "In danger? From whom?" Damin hesitated. "I... are you familiar with my people?"

"Your people?" Reed looked surprised. "You're not Human?"

"No." Damin smiled. "I am from a planet called Betazed. We are a race of empaths who are native to a world not far from Vulcan. Our people have made contact with certain members of your diplomatic corps, but we are not generally very sociable with non-Betazoids. Being natural empaths makes us very... uncomfortable around many other races. Perhaps you can understand."

Reed nodded slowly. "Commander T'Pol mentioned that even some Vulcans, who are just touch telepaths, can find the emotions that a crowd of Humans radiate overwhelming."

"Yes." Damin shifted uncomfortably. "My people are taught how to shield ourselves from early childhood. But when we are exposed to large numbers of people from other races, such as your own, who do _not _know how it shield themselves it can become quite overwhelming."

"Yet you want to come here?"

"I would rather be uncomfortable than dead," Damin told him bluntly. Reed pursed his lips and nodded judiciously.

"You haven't yet explained your connection..." Reed trailed off suggestively.

"Your intelligence service has been attempting to establish an alliance with my people's government since First Contact," Damin explained. "Unfortunately, the Great Houses on Betazed are reluctant to become embroiled in the political and/or military conflicts extant in the quadrant. Fortunately for my current employers, I am not a member of one of the Great Houses. My House specializes in activities that are both esoteric and clandestine."

"You're criminals," Reed's brow darkened.

"Harsh, Mr. Reed. Very harsh, considering that I have risked my life in the service of your people, don't you think?" Damin put a carefully modulated note of indignation into his voice. He was gratified to feel Reed begin to cool down. "I was hired by a certain Mr. Harris to conduct a clandestine surveillance of the crew of _Lerteiran_, merely to confirm that your Mr. Johansen was in fact operating as an independent trader, of his own free will, and had not been coerced or co-opted into acting as an agent of the Andorian High Command. I was also assigned to confirm that his Andorian partners were free from any connection to the Andorian government. That was my sole assignment. There is no reason for them to ever learn of this matter, since I have already confirmed that they are in fact exactly what they present themselves to be."

Reed blew out his breath in an exasperated sigh. "I should have expected that Harris would demand a check on Johansen after an incident like this. He never takes anything for granted."

"As well he should not," Damin said seriously. "The devious maneuvers of interstellar politics are complex beyond all reason."

"So now what?" Reed demanded. "If Johansen doesn't know about this, he can't be the one who's after you. Did his shipmates find out? What's the problem?"

"The problem is not related to my current assignment," Damin confessed. "It has to do with the recent attack on _Lerteiran_. Were you able to obtain any scan data on the ship that destroyed the Nausicans?"

Reed tensed. Damin nodded, "I thought so. No doubt you noticed that it was Romulan? That ship is hunting me."

#

Captain Archer sat back and looked carefully at Damin while saying nothing, apparently evaluating his visitor while he digested what he had been told. In his turn, Damin looked around the quarters and tried to glean some understanding of the man from his living space.

Archer had surprised him from the very first by being the only Human he had ever encountered who possessed a rudimentary mind shield. It was rather a shock, to say the least. His people's research indicated that Human telepathy was simultaneously weak, intermittent, and inconsistent. Anecdotal evidence had led Betazoid researchers to the conclusion that Human telepathic communication required the extra energy of their fight-or-flight mechanism to activate at all. And even then it functioned more as a last ditch emergency distress signal than as any practical mode of communication. For Damin to encounter a Human with a functional mind shield was unexpected in the extreme.

"All right." Archer leaned forward. "You've explained everything but why. Why are the Romulans after you?" Damin forced himself to meet the man's eyes, a disconcertingly difficult task. This Human was his own age, or perhaps a bit younger, but something seemed to be looking out at him that was much older.

"My father's House has occasionally engaged in espionage activities involving the Romulans." He spoke the partial truth with glib evasiveness. "I received word that the Romulans have identified me as one of my people's operatives, and that I had been marked for capture and interrogation. In truth, it was primarily for this reason that I accepted the assignment from Mr. Harris. It gave me a perfect opportunity to escape from the Orion station and return to safer space."

Damin sat tensely and waited. Archer's expression gave him nothing to work with. Reed, however, was extrapolating and weighing options at lightspeed. And it was Reed who spoke first. "You told me that your people tried to avoid becoming involved in political and military matters in the quadrant. Why would you be connected to any espionage against the Romulans?"

Damin wanted to heave a sigh of relief. Reed at least had taken the bait. He'd neglected to notice that Damin had said "involving" Romulans rather than "against" Romulans. That was all Damin needed.

"We do," Damin told him blithely. "The activities were conducted on a hired basis in association with the Vulcan High Command." Both men instantly snapped to seated attention with expressions reminiscent of Klingons on the hunt. Damin carefully did not smile. "While I am a low ranking member of my father's House, and my access to information was quite limited, I am perfectly willing to share my information about the Romulans in return for sanctuary."

This time he didn't need telepathy to see the answer on Captain Archer's face.

#

"That is less than satisfactory," Senek told her. "Your task was to..."

"I am well aware of what my task was!" Raijiin snapped at him. "Damin is not some post-adolescent Human without experience. He's a good deal older than I am. I got that much before his shield slammed down like a landslide. He is at least as powerful a telepath as you are, perhaps even stronger," she emphasized, watching his eyebrows start to climb. "You didn't know that, did you?" Senek gestured in the negative. "Well, neither did I. Neither did anyone else on the station, I'm guessing. I have no idea what he's capable of, but we have seriously underestimated him. I can tell you that much right now."

Senek drew back to consider the matter. "Report in full," he ordered. Raijiin complied telepathically, projecting her memory of the encounter directly into Senek's mind in the space of a few seconds. The Vulcan cogitated briefly and told her, "I must speak with this man myself. Plainly, any appearance of misdirection will merely serve to rouse his suspicions. I acknowledge that my earlier feedback was unwarranted. Given the circumstances, your performance was adequate."

Raijiin felt a warm flush in her cheeks. It was ridiculous for her to care what he thought. He was her jailer and her master, not her friend. But still, something inside her responded just the same. It had been so long since anyone had given her an honest word of legitimately earned praise. She tried to remember how long it had been, and found that she could not. Wryly she considered how low she had sunk when "adequate" sounded like high praise. But then again, Senek _was _Vulcan.

While she was lost in thought, the Vulcan in question moved to seat himself at their common desk and activated the communications console. Raijiin moved past the desk and poured herself a cup of tea while she listened with half an ear to Senek's conversation.

"I see. Thank you, Commander Tucker. I will attempt to reach him aboard _Enterprise _then. No, nothing urgent. It happens that I was on Betazoid some years ago and became acquainted with some members of Mr. Damin's House. I suppose in Human or Vulcan terms we would say his clan. I merely wish to make a courtesy call. The people of Betazed are quite scrupulous about observing the niceties of protocol, for themselves and others."

Senek closed the connection and permitted a faint expression of frustration to appear on his face, or perhaps Raijiin was able to spot it because of their connection. "You are quite possibly the most adept liar I have ever met," she told him with more than a hint of admiration.

"Unfortunately, I have been given more opportunity than most to practice the skill," Senek told her ironically. He paused, studying her for several seconds. She could sense his reluctance. Finally, he spoke. "I must go to Enterprise. It might be easier if you accompanied..."

"_**NO!"**_ Raijiin protested frantically.

"Calm yourself" Senek told her quietly, extending a hand to touch her left temple lightly with the tips of his fingers, and she felt his mind clamp down on hers like a warm vise, smothering her panic. She knew better than to try to resist him, and after a second or two she no longer wanted to. She took a deep breath, then exhaled deeply. She closed her eyes. His Vulcan serenity bolstered her courage, and she could feel him withdrawing his control of her, allowing her to regain her calm. She opened her eyes and half-smiled at him self-consciously. He was correct, of course. She had to learn to control these instinctive panic reactions if she wanted to satisfy her current employers. Vulcans would not be tolerant of mistakes made due to excessively emotional responses to danger, and the alternatives available to her should the Vulcans find her lacking were unpleasant, to say the least. "Sorry," she told him sheepishly. Senek just inclined his head a fraction, scrutinizing her closely. "As I was saying...," he continued, '...because Damin knows you, it might be easier if you accompanied me, but as you are obviously still having significant difficulties resulting from your time incarcerated on the Human vessel, I will have to manage alone." Raijiin exhaled shakily and gave him a grateful smile. "You will stay on board _Sehlat_, and will be responsible for explaining this situation to Commander T'Lar," he told her. "I plan to discuss the need to retrieve our agent from the Romulans in a forthright manner with Captain Archer and to request his assistance with convincing Damin to cooperate." Raijiin blinked at him in dismay. "I'm supposed to tell Commander T'Lar that you're bypassing her entirely and planning to speak directly to Captain Archer?" she asked apprehensively. "Indeed. Do your best to explain my reasoning," he told her wryly. "Time is of the essence, and her interactions with Archer in the past have been somewhat... adversarial. Eliminating that element is, in my opinion, of prime importance. I also strongly suspect that the Humans may have considerable influence over the Betazoid. It seems curious to me that he would take refuge with the Humans after your rather ingeniously truth-twisting interpretation of what happened to you while in their custody. There is something going on here that I do not fully comprehend."

#

"Bioscans indicate that our target is now aboard the Human vessel, Commander. All three ships are in orbit about the third planet. The Andorian and Vulcan vessels are linked, with the Human ship orbiting closer to our present position. Repairs seem to be ongoing on the Andorian ship," said Llahir. He brought up the scanner image and put it onto the forward view screen. Commander Sienae studied it with a scowl.

"Estimated response time from _Sehlat_ if we decloak to retrieve the target?" she asked brusquely. Llahir did some mental calculations.

"_Sehlat_ is within firing range for photon torpedos at her current distance from _Enterprise_," he reported. "Her response will likely be almost immediate, assuming the target has informed both vessels of the need for caution."

"So we face both of them if we decloak," she said decisively. "Unless we make a preemptive strike."

Llahir's pulse suddenly accelerated. If she got it into her head to attack either ship without provocation, then his chances of being retrieved by either the Vulcans or the Humans were dramatically decreased. "Any attempt at a preemptive strike will greatly increase our risk of failure, as it would prolong the time that we remain uncloaked, leaving us open to attack," Llahir replied calmly. Sienae's contempt of his presumed cowardice was plain on her face, but fortunately she conceded the logic of his position.

"I suppose it would be pointless to retrieve him and be destroyed in the process," she admitted.

"An alternative with a greater chance of success would be to send a security detail to retrieve him," Llahir replied. "Transporting aboard the _Enterprise_ and back would require only a few seconds of decloaking each way instead of the several minutes that a direct confrontation would require. We can approach the ship from the far side of _Sehlat_, preventing the Vulcans from using their torpedoes without destroying their ally. Human response times are much slower than Vulcans', and Human shipboard defenses will be no match for a team of well-trained Romulan warriors." He squared his shoulders, affecting a look of sincere determination. "If I had not failed in my first attempt to destroy the Nausican ship, we might have had time to retrieve him during our last encounter. I request permission to lead the away team, Commander, and thereby redeem myself." He held his breath. If only it could be that easy.

Sienae studied him in surprise. "I see no advantage in your plan over simply getting close enough to lock on to the target and then decloaking to bring him aboard. Either way, we will be forced to decloak for several seconds within transporter...and therefore weapon's...range. But a boarding party _would_ be an excellent diversion tactic," she replied thoughtfully. Then she smiled. "You're very clever, Llahir," she told him in a satisfied tone. "Collect two of our best security officers and report to the transporter room in one quarter hour."

#

Trip Tucker strode unchallenged through the airlock and entered _Lertieran's_ chilly corridors carrying a toolcase slung on each shoulder. More prepared this time after his previous experiences, he wore sweatpants, a sweatshirt, a knit cap, and knit work gloves over his usual uniform. The difference in comfort level was astounding. He looked both ways down the deserted passageway, his breath fogging in the frigid air, and then headed toward the engine room. Again.

"This is gettin' really old," he muttered to himself. What was it about _Lerteiran_ that made every ship she encountered decide to blow her up? The freighter didn't look particularly threatening. All three of her regular crew members seemed to be fairly likeable, attractive, intelligent people—at least not people that anyone would instinctively take an immediate dislike to. Even the Vulcan wasn't that bad, although, in his admittedly biased opinion, she couldn't hold a candle to T'Pol. _Must just be bad luck_, he decided, although he knew his wife wouldn't agree with him. She didn't believe in luck. Trip hoped that this time _Lerteiran's_ luck would hold at least long enough to get her so far away from _Enterprise_ that the next set of repairs wouldn't be his responsibility.

He mounted the ladder and began to climb. As he did so, he could hear the murmur of voices and the occasional metallic clang from the engine room. Apparently, that was where the action was. As his head topped the threshold he caught sight of Sehlra in the center of a group of four attentive Vulcans. She finished what she was telling them—something about re-aligning the plasma injectors, he thought. His Vulcan was still a little shaky despite T'Pol's efforts. They dispersed, and she took a step back to sag against a work console, supporting herself with her hands. Most of the color left her face when she did so, and she suddenly looked a decade older.

Trip hoisted himself into the engine room, concerned. He knew she wouldn't like it if he made a big deal about it, though, so his voice was cheerful when he called out, "Hey, Sehlra! Long time no see! I hear you could use some help again. What's the deal? Can't keep this old bucket from fallin' apart without me?" She snorted, shaking her head at his teasing, "This is gettin' to be a regular thing," he continued. "We'd better stop meetin' like this or people might start to talk." He grinned, walking toward her all the while searching her body for signs of injury with his eyes. She half-smiled tiredly back at him. "Hello again, Trip. Better be careful. After I get some sleep I might just take you up on that," she returned with mock seriousness.

When he got close enough for private speech his face sobered. "You okay?" he asked softly. "You look whipped."

"It's just my back. It complains when I spend more than 18 hours upright," Sehlra told him wryly. He chuckled, nodding in sympathy, and lowered both tool cases carefully to the deckplates.

"Where are Jenrali and Daniel?" he asked. "It's deserted out there." He stuck his tongue in one cheek. "Lemme guess. They left you here alone to run things while they 'check' on the passengers." Sehlra rolled her eyes.

"They're getting some sleep," she replied tolerantly, "which is exactly what I plan to do after I get everything taken care of here." She stepped aside and beckoned him toward the computer console where she'd been leaning. As he walked forward to look at the screen over her shoulder, she brought up the ship's transmissions log. "Come and look at this and tell me what you think. I found it a few minutes ago when I had the chance to check the log for transmissions that came in during our last little party with the Nausicans." Suddenly the screen was filled with squiggly lines. It looked like nonsense to Trip, but it had a vaguely Vulcan feel to it.

"Looks kinda like Vulcan, but it's not," he said. She nodded, and then keyed in a few more symbols. The text reverted to Andorian lettering, which Trip couldn't read, but at least he recognized.

"Our computer automatically renders all transmissions into Andorian lettering. Sometimes it's confusing, but in this instance it came up with something useful. Let me render it into English for you." The screen reverted again. It was now mostly nonsense syllables in the English alphabet, but the center contained a readable message.

_The Betazoid is in great danger, and so is your ship as long as he is aboard. If you want to live, get him to the Vulcans as fast as you can. They are the only ones who can protect him.  
An Ally. _

"Betazoid?" Trip asked, puzzled.

"His name is Damin," Sehlra answered stoically. She took a deep breath, her eyes fixed on the screen. "I'm...concerned about him." She seemed reluctant to meet his eyes, and asked rather diffidently, "He _is_ going to be safe on board _Enterprise_, isn't he? I let him go for supplies since Daniel was sleeping." Trip studied her in morbid fascination. She couldn't possibly be interested in a boy like that, could she?

She swallowed, and then continued as if forced to do so. " I was wondering if you would inform your captain that Damin is in danger so that steps can be taken to protect him...and _Enterprise_, of course. I would assume that since he's aboard your ship the threat now includes all of us."

"The ex-slave? The...ummm... passenger I just met? That was him?" Trip clarified, staring at her darkening features in disbelief. _So that's what an Andorian looks like when she blushes. Interesting._

"Yes," she answered uncomfortably. At Trip's knowing grin, she continued defensively, "He's a passenger. I'm responsible for getting him to his destination in good health."

Trip nodded noncommittally. "So...where did this transmission come from?"

"From the ship that destroyed the Nausicans. I believe the ship is Romulan," Sehlra replied. Trip's eyes widened at that, and turned back to the screen. He punched up the comm screen and opened a channel to _Enterprise_ without missing a beat. He had, after all, helped reinstall these comm systems the last time they'd been fried.

"Tucker to T'Pol." There was a minute or so of delay, and then the voice he'd been waiting for came over the comm.

"_T'Pol here."_

"Stand by for incoming message, code 'white'. Are you able to receive?" The warning had been his idea. He hated being involuntarily spaced out in the middle of a dangerous task.

"_Go ahead, Commander."_

He closed his eyes, exhaling heavily. They'd been practicing, but he wasn't certain whether it would work. He couldn't risk transmitting this information over an open comm line, though, not with Romulans in the vicinity. Within seconds, he stood in the white space.

_T'Pol stood beside him. He smiled at her. She looked stressed, but reached out to touch two fingertips to his. At the contact, even though it was an imaginary one, he immediately knew the source of her stress. Her raised brow told him that she'd gotten the gist of his message as well. _

"_I understand," she said. "I will inform the captain and place the ship on alert status." _

_He pulled his fingers away from hers and reached out to trail them along her cheek. She closed her eyes and turned her head toward his palm..._

And suddenly he was standing back in engineering on _Lerteiran_. Sehlra was looking at him strangely. He hastily keyed in a few lines of nonsense syllables and pressed 'send'. Then he shrugged, smiling sheepishly.

"Just a little code we worked out...in case we were ever somewhere where somebody might be listening," he explained. "I had to think a little bit before I remembered it, but it's all taken care of now. _Enterprise_ is on high alert status. They'll protect him."

Sehlra nodded, looking impressed. He dropped the topic like a hot potato then, cleared the transmission log from the screen, and brought up the engine diagnostics.

"So... what was it you were griping about when you called me?" he asked. "Something about plasma flow variations? I thought we'd licked that problem last time..."

#

Senek stepped aboard _Enterprise_ flanked by two armed Vulcan security guards. Commander T'Pol met him at the airlock. She held up the ta'al to him, but pointedly ignored his escort. He returned the gesture.

"The agreement was that you come alone, Agent Senek. Captain Archer was perfectly clear on that point," T'Pol told him firmly without further greeting. He nodded in acquiescence and gestured for his escorts to return to the shuttle. They did so without objection, as if the situation were an expected one.

"I informed Commander T'Lar of that fact, but she insisted," Senek replied. "I had insufficient time to brief her, and she wished to ensure my safety, considering the fact that when I last boarded your vessel I was taken into custody."

T'Pol raised a brow, but said nothing. Her silence spoke volumes.

"I do promise to...as the Humans say...'behave myself' this time," he said blandly, "My partner is briefing Commander T'Lar as we speak, and she will soon be up to date on the current situation."

"Partner? I thought you usually worked alone," said T'Pol as they walked down the corridor toward the turbolift.

"I do...I did," he amended. "The Security Directorate has assigned me a trainee." He stared straight ahead as the doors opened. They stepped in.

"I see," replied T'Pol sympathetically. Out of the corner of his eye he could see her gaze cut to his face and back to the lift doors three times as they traveled. Despite himself, he was amused. He'd met few living beings in his career as curious as T'Pol.

The doors opened to the bridge, and they walked across toward Captain Archer's ready room. The view when Commander T'Pol opened the door for him was disconcerting, to say the least. He'd expected a one-on-one with the captain—perhaps with Commander T'Pol present for safety's sake. He hadn't expected the room full of people that faced him now. He scanned the room. Aside from Archer, there were the _Enterprise's_ chief of security Lieutenant Reed and his communications chief Lieutenant Sato, both of whom Senek had met before, and a boy, looking just beyond adolescence and dressed in white silk pantaloons and a patchwork multicolored silk jacket overlying a sleeveless white shift. The attire looked like a slightly more masculine version of Raijiin's slave silks, and when the young man raised his head and gazed at Senek with long-lashed eyes, his pupils were black on black.

_Damin._

Raijiin's description didn't do him justice, even directly experienced via mind meld. Although Senek knew intellectually that the man was a serious threat and at least 40 years of age, his eyes told him a different story, and it was easy to allow them to influence his judgment. He could see now how Raijiin and everyone at Natolya's had been so easily fooled.

"Come in, Agent Senek. Have a seat," ordered Archer with an affable smile overlying steel. Senek's instincts immediately put him on alert. Archer obviously believed himself to hold the upper hand in these negotiations, and Senek hadn't even told him what he wanted yet.

Senek inclined his head and took a seat beside the captain. T'Pol seated herself across the table from them. "I thought this meeting would be confidential, Captain," said Senek.

Archer gave back a brow raise worthy of a Vulcan. "Everyone in this room has something to contribute to this discussion, Agent Senek." He turned to his communications chief. She was a quiet and serious young woman. Senek had heard quite a few impressive things about her translation skills, but her presence in the room puzzled him—until she reached out to bring up part of _Enterprise's_ transmission logs on the console in the center of the table and the screen became full of Romulan script. That's when he truly became concerned. He watched Commander T'Pol from the corner of his eye as the girl began to speak. _Enterprise's_ First Officer sat watching impassively. If she was alarmed by the extent of the Human's knowledge she hid it well.

"Based on the contents of these messages, it's my conclusion that an unknown agent, working undercover within the Romulan Empire and probably of Vulcan origin, has contacted all three of the ships orbiting this planet," said Lieutenant Sato. "He's offering military information about the Romulans to the first ship that rescues him, for the right price. He's also delivered a warning to Mr. Damin, here." She gestured at the ex-slave, who sat calmly, showing no sign of fear.

Senek couldn't help but be surprised. The agent they sought sounded more Romulan—or perhaps Human—than Vulcan.

"As the representative of Starfleet in this sector," put in Captain Archer, "I've been authorized to negotiate with you, Agent Senek, to determine the fate of the agent currently in Romulan hands and to plan a joint rescue. Mr. Damin is in possession of some very useful information regarding the intentions of the Romulans who are holding the agent who's contacted all of us. Mr. Reed will be in charge of retrieval from our end. We need to decide where we're going to go with this."

Senek regarded Archer thoughtfully. The Human's audacity was astounding. "And what made you decide to negotiate with me rather than with Commander T'Lar?" he asked.

Archer smiled. "I just thought you were more likely to be the go-to guy in this situation," he said. Senek had never heard the idiom, but the meaning was clear. Archer wanted to deal specifically with the Vulcan Security Directorate. No one else. That meant that he was probably in contact with Earth's equivalent organization, Section 31—possibly even a member of it. Or someone else in the room was a member. His eyes panned the room. Section 31 would never trust T'Pol, so he eliminated her immediately.

_Reed?_ He inspected the security officer's grim expression. _Too obvious_, he decided. _Sato?_

Her face seemed guileless, and her skills would be tremendously useful. Archer was too high profile to be an agent. Senek decided that it must be Sato.

The comm attention tone sounded.

"_Bridge to Captain Archer."_ The voice on the comm sounded young and female.

Archer rose and answered. "Archer here."

"_Captain, I've got an incoming message. It looks like it's another one from the Romulan, sir."_

"Forward it to my ready room, Ensign," Archer replied. Lieutenant Sato turned the console toward her seat, waited a few seconds with an intent expression, and then began entering information feverishly into the keyboard. The others rose from their chairs and crowded behind her. Senek sighed, and then got up to join the crush. In less than thirty seconds the message appeared on the screen in English.

_Protect the Betazoid from beam-out. I'm coming aboard in five of your minutes. The others in the boarding party are not allies. Set phasers to stun._

Senek grit his teeth. If either the Romulans or the surgically altered agent managed to board _Enterprise_, then the secret of the Vulcan/Romulan connection would be revealed. The endangered agent must be mad to risk the Human/Vulcan alliance in this manner.

He closed his eyes, trying to find his connection with Raijiin. He'd never attempted to make contact from such a great distance. He could hear Archer delivering orders as he tried to focus.

"Malcolm, escort Damin and Agent Senek to the brig and activate the sensor baffle," barked the captain. "Hoshi and T'Pol, you're with me." Senek's concentration broke, and he stared at the Human captain, affronted. Archer ignored him, turning toward the bridge.

"Captain! I protest! I boarded your ship in good faith!" he remonstrated.

"No time to stand around talking, Agent Senek!" Archer called over his shoulder. "We'll discuss this again when the battle is over." Then he walked out, taking Commander T'Pol and Lieutenant Sato with him. Senek turned to find a phase pistol pointed at him, in the obviously capable hands of Lieutenant Malcolm Reed.

"Please don't give me any trouble, sir. You're in danger. We're about to be boarded. The brig is the safest place on the ship. You can't be transported out of there." Senek stared back at him tolerantly, assessing the Human's combat readiness. "Damin's not the only target," Reed went on. "Any Vulcan on a Human ship is a desirable target...easily isolated. The Romulans would find the information in your head tremendously useful, don't you think?."

The phase pistol held steady. As Senek gathered his strength for an escape attempt, the beautiful boy, Damin—that he'd completely discounted as an immediate danger despite everything—slipped beneath Reed's arm and wrested the phase pistol from the Human's grasp with troublesome ease. Before Senek had the chance to adjust to the change in opponents, he felt the well-remembered kick of a stun blast to the center of his chest, and everything went black.

#

Malcolm Reed eyed his fellow agent warily, rubbing his wrist. The little bugger was _strong_. Damin expertly turned the phase pistol butt-first in one hand and handed it back to Malcolm.

"We've got less than four minutes to get to the sensor baffle. Let's go," said Damin. Malcolm bent to retrieve the unconscious Vulcan.

"Leave him. They don't want him and he'll only slow us down," said the Betazoid coldly. Then he turned and headed down the corridor as if he knew precisely where he was going. Malcolm had to run to catch up. He didn't like the feeling. He made it into the turbolift—just barely.

"Deck F," announced Damin. The lift began to move. Malcolm crossed both arms over his chest.

"How the bloody hell do you know where we're going?" he demanded of the Betazoid. Damin smiled wryly.

"Remember when I said that my people are empaths?" he asked. Malcolm sighed and nodded. The lift stopped. The door opened. Damin disembarked and turned toward the brig. Malcolm followed. "Some of us are born with enough telepathic ability to read the thoughts of another empath. Very few of us can read the surface thoughts of non-telepaths." Damin smiled, looking disturbingly feminine when he did so. "I know the way because _you_ know the way."

Malcolm said nothing, walking briskly beside Damin with his teeth ground together. The prissy little man was enjoying his discomfort. It was infuriating, and he certainly didn't want the bloke rummaging around in his mind. They entered the brig with forty-five seconds to spare. Malcolm approached the controls and input the code which activated the sensor baffle. Then he turned to leave.

"Stay here. The baffle only protects you within the brig," Then he left the room and locked the door behind him. Damin had probably already extracted the lock code from his mind, but at that point Malcolm didn't really care. If the little pervert was smart, he'd stay put. If not—well—the Romulans were welcome to him.

TBC in Episode Six.


	6. Chapter 6a

**The ****Lerteiran**** Chronicles**

**Episode Six: Just Deserts**

**By Blacknblue and 2Distracted**

**Genre :**** Action Adventure and romance **

**Rating :**** PG-13 **

**Disclaimer :**** We don't own the Star Trek universe. We just go there to play. Honest. We do, however, own our original characters and story ideas. You are welcome to borrow them, as long as no money changes hands. If we can't make anything from this, nobody else gets to either. **

**Summary :**_**Lerteiran, Enterprise**_**, and **_**Sehlat**_** orbit a forsaken planet just outside of the Horn Nebula. A Romulan stealth ship hunts its quarry while its first officer makes his escape. Meanwhile, Daniel is acting very strangely, T'Riss makes a decision, and Archer's mad enough to start an interplanetary war. .. **

**This really **_**is**_** starting to sound like a soap opera, isn't it? **

**A/N:**** As requested, here's a listing of original characters introduced in previous installments who appear or are mentioned in this story, with a bit of bio to jog your memory: **

**Daniel Johansen**** – **Human boomer male, age 25, an orphan who spent his childhood in foster care after the death of his parents, after reaching majority worked on various ships as crew until he found Lerteiran and made it his home, recently treated for complications following a telepathic assault by Raijiin (aided and abetted by T'Riss), now the target of another female, tends to get into trouble through no fault of his own**  
****Jenrali**** – **Andorian male, age about 60, retired Andorian guard, captain of Lerteiran**  
****Sehlra**** – **Andorian female, age about 60, retired Andorian guard, engineer of Lerteiran**  
****T'Riss**** – **Vulcan female, age 30 (for a Vulcan this is just past the age of majority), was serving her first mission as a Vulcan Space Fleet officer on the Plains of Gol (her rank was subcenturian), captured by Nausicans and sold to Orions as a sex slave, rescued from Orion custody by Senek, nearly destroyed her career by kidnapping Daniel, with Raijiin's help, and trying to use him to gain control of Lerteiran and pursue her rapist, busted to crewman and sentenced to service as crew on Lerteiran as a form of administrative discipline by T'Lar after Daniel dropped all charges. Currently serving as helmsman and crew aboard Lerteiran**  
****Raiijin**** (I know, she's not an OC, but hopefully we've made her into a more sympathetic character) - **telepathic female from Oran'taku, age 28, ex sex slave and war criminal now in the "involuntary employ" of the Vulcan Security Directorate, training under Senek**  
****Senek ****– **Vulcan male, age about 150, agent of the Vulcan Security Directorate, telepath**  
****Natolya**** – **Orion female, age 45, ex slave mistress**  
****T'Lar ****– **Vulcan female, age 50, young captain of the Sehlat**  
****Selim**** – **Vulcan male, age 14, T'Lar's younger brother, rescued from the Orions after Nausican pirates killed his parents and sold him as a slave, a very attractive little boy. Still a small child, he would appear to a Human to be around 8 or 9 years old**  
****Verlen**** – **Vulcan male, age about 180, T'Lar's seasoned second in command**  
****Tyvek**** - **Vulcan male, age 100 or so, chief medical officer (healer) of the Sehlat**  
****Sienae ****– **Romulan female, age about 70, commander of the Romulan stealth vessel Aehallh, mother of Damin, the result of a deliberate attempt on her part to create a controllable telepath by mating with a member of a prominent Betazoid criminal family 40 years ago**  
****Llahir ****– **Vulcan male, age 75, undercover agent with the Vulcan Security Directorate, has been with the Romulans for 30 years and now seeking to return home, has been serving for 10 years on Aehallh, recently promoted to second in command**  
****Damin**** – **Betazoid/Romulan crossbreed, looks fully Betazoid, powerful telepath, age 40 but looks barely 20, ex sex slave, currently working for an as yet to be identified employer as an undercover operative. His mother needs to silence him because he's gone rogue from the Tal Shiar, but she needs proof that he's dead, so she'd prefer to catch him alive…initially.

######################

_She stood naked in the center of the circular chamber, the focal point of every eye in the room. She knew she was dreaming, but the lucidity of the dream did nothing to dim the horror of what she was experiencing. She felt utter shame standing there exposed and vulnerable, an intense humiliation that drastically exceeded the physical reality of her nakedness. _

_In the circle of disapproving faces which surrounded her, she recognized Commander T'Lar, her most recent accuser; her father, dead now these past five years; her mother, who she'd left back on Vulcan but who most certainly by now had been informed of her disgrace; and all of her teachers from the Science Academy. Both her first commanding officer and her intended mate Simen, dead for nearly a year at the hands of the Nausican pirates who'd taken The Plains of Gol, had also been resurrected by her subconscious mind, vivid emerald blood stains and all. Ironically enough, they stood shoulder-to-shoulder with what remained of Grigor-Tel, his bulk covered in gruesome plasma burns but still inexplicably upright and conscious. The entire roomful of her accusers stared at her in silent condemnation, but she could offer no explanation. _

"_You'll be all right. I'll show you the way out of here," said a pleasant male voice from behind her. She turned and came face to face with Daniel Johansen. He had a worried look on his face, but seemed oblivious both to the others in the room and to her nakedness. He held out his hand. His eyes met hers, and he smiled at her—a wide, honest sincere smile that despite her lack of experience with such things made her feel accepted and wanted. She allowed herself, here in her imagination, a luxury she'd refused to permit herself while awake, and admired his vividly green eyes, an eye color unheard of among Vulcans. Their alien hue contrasted favorably with the red-brown of his hair, so similar in color to Vulcan sand, as it fell shaggily across his forehead. She tried to reach out to take his hand, but she was rooted in place, unable to speak. Trapped as if she were paralyzed by some unknown external agent, all she could move were her eyes. They searched his face and then roamed the room, looking desperately for help among the frightening apparitions there, but no one stepped forward. _

_Seeming disappointed by her complete lack of response, Daniel dropped his hand. His smile faded to a look of hurt bewilderment. Finally, he turned away. _

_**Don't leave me! Please! Wait!**__ her thoughts screamed while her body remained frozen. Her heart pounded in terror as she watched him walk away..._

And T'Riss woke, covered in perspiration, from yet another vision of horror concocted by her subconscious mind. She lay in bed for several moments, trying to slow her breathing and her pounding heart. It was little wonder that she'd been fatigued since her return to duty. The dreams were getting worse, not better as the healer had said they would. Meditation helped marginally, but the smallest waking events had the potential to trigger horrific nightmares if they sent the right signals to her subconscious, and she had no way of predicting what those nightmares might entail. It was most disconcerting.

She was on the verge of leaving her bed to meditate when she realized that something was wrong. There was an odd odor in the air, a slightly musky smell. She inhaled deeply, trying to place the vaguely familiar scent, and then she heard something—or rather, multiple somethings—which put the odor in context for her. Both the noises and the smell were coming through the ventilation duct that connected her quarters to the cabin next door, currently occupied by Daniel Johansen. She rose from the bed and walked toward the duct, listening intently. The gasping and moaning coming from the vent were disgustingly familiar.

Her initial response to the realization was an intensely illogical one. There was no reason at all for her to feel betrayed. She had no claim upon the Human or any reason to believe that he felt anything for her. It should therefore have been of no concern to her whatsoever that he had obviously chosen to avail himself of the professional services of one of their passengers during his off duty hours. Upon further reflection, his lack of discipline and his disregard for his health in potentially exposing himself to disease did give her a quite logical sense of mild disappointment. She'd expected more intelligent behavior from him, that was certain, but her first reaction had no doubt been a holdover from the extremely vivid dream she'd just experienced.

And so, because she found it impossible to sleep for some reason, even though the noises were barely audible, she decided to ignore the events transpiring in the neighboring cabin and resumed her attempts to meditate—with only marginal success. She'd have to speak with him in the morning, she decided. He would certainly wish to be informed that his off duty activities were interfering with her sleep. He was her superior officer, if only marginally, as a Crewman First Class. It was her duty to report events to him which might affect ship's efficiency.

#

The alien telepath drew startled glances when she stepped onto the bridge of the _Sehlat_ wearing nothing but a few layers of translucent silk and a g-string. She stood at the threshold, looking a bit uncertain, and waited to be acknowledged.

T'Lar sighed. At least the young woman knew the proper protocol, but she and Senek had already had this discussion. No matter how many documents he produced to prove that Raijiin was now employed by the Security Directorate, her basic nature had not changed. T'Lar had made it absolutely clear to him that his charge was not to be allowed to roam the ship freely. And she most definitely had no business being on the bridge dressed like—well, like _that_.

T'Lar rose from the command chair and met Raijiin at the door. She said nothing at first, but eyed the girl from head to foot and raised a brow. Raijiin colored slightly, but held her ground.

"I apologize for my state of undress, Commander, but there was no time for me to change," she asserted. "I have an important matter that I need to discuss with you."

"Where is Agent Senek?" T'Lar asked her, maintaining her composure with some effort. "I assigned a guard to him when he told me he intended to go to _Enterprise_, but he left without explaining himself."

"That's what I need to talk to you about," replied the girl, glancing warily over T'Lar's shoulder at the faces of the bridge crew, all of whom by this time, T'Lar was sure, were busily going about their duties while trying not to give the impression that they were listening intently to every word of the conversation between their commanding officer and the exotically dressed stranger. T'Lar closed her eyes briefly in stoic agony. Then she turned around and began walking.

"Follow me," she said in a resigned tone, without looking back to see if the girl obeyed her. Her gaze shifted to her second in command as she strode toward her ready room. "Verlen. Conference," she said tersely. Subcommander Verlen stepped back from the tactical station and gave the centurion at helm a meaningful look. The dark haired, dark skinned young woman gave a nod of comprehension and took command of the bridge without a word.

Once inside her sanctuary with the door closed, T'Lar sat down and gazed expectantly at Raijiin. Verlen, accustomed to his captain's meaningful silences after two years as her second-in-command, took a seat beside her, turned his grizzled head toward Raijiin and waited. Neither of them offered the telepath a seat. As was socially appropriate for a junior officer making a report, Raijiin remained standing. She was obviously making an effort. Unfortunately, her near-nudity effectively negated her attempts to be socially correct.

"Explain," T'Lar said. Raijiin took a deep breath, an action which, T'Lar noticed, caused Verlen's eyes to widen slightly, squared her shoulders, and began. T'Lar shot her older subordinate a look of subdued annoyance.

"There is a cloaked Romulan ship in our immediate vicinity," said Raijiin. "On that ship is an undercover agent of the Vulcan Security Directorate who is requesting retrieval. The agent has informed us that his ship's mission is to gain custody of one of the passengers aboard _Lerteiran_. Agent Senek believes that the best option is to lure the Romulans close enough to our vessel to transport the agent aboard, but the Romulans must be induced to decloak in order for that plan to work. Senek also believes that using the passenger as bait by bringing him aboard our vessel will convince the Romulan command er to decloak in order to retrieve him."

T'Lar nodded, contemplating the girl thoughtfully. Her reporting style was surprisingly concise and pertinent.

"I contacted the passenger to request his cooperation," Raijiin continued. "He refused and then sought refuge with the Humans. Agent Senek has gone aboard _Enterprise_ to request Captain Archer's assistance in convincing the passenger to cooperate."

"What makes Agent Senek believe that the Romulans will not simply decloak without warning and destroy our ship rather than attempt to retrieve the passenger alive?" asked Verlen.

"The Romulans assisted _Lerteiran_ against the Nausicans rather than destroying her. That would imply that they want the passenger alive, " said the girl succinctly. T'Lar nodded in agreement. Then it occurred to her that Agent Senek had just gone over her head to deal directly with the Humans himself. She'd barely had enough time to acknowledge her disgruntlement over the event when the comm attention tone sounded.

"_Bridge to Commander T'Lar,"_ said the comm officer, _"I have an incoming coded message intended for Agent Senek, but he is not aboard. It is marked urgent."_

T'Lar rose to the comm and answered. "Send it in here, Centurion." She turned to Raijiin. "Do you have the necessary recognition codes, Subcenturion?" The telepath blinked at the rank title for a second, and then nodded. "Open the message, then," T'Lar ordered. Raijiin swallowed. T'Lar stared her down.

"Yes, ma'am," answered the ex-slave submissively. Then she stepped to the console set into the wall, input a series of codes, and stepped back. The three of them read the message in silence.

_In approximately five Earth minutes, we will decloak in the vicinity of the Human ship. I will be a member of the boarding party which will beam aboard. If I survive arrival, the Humans will doubtless place me in a transport-safe area shortly after I beam on board. I would prefer to be in Vulcan custody, but if left in Human hands I plan to cooperate fully with our allies. My final disposition is up to you._

T'Lar exchanged a look with Verlen. Then she rushed to the bridge with him close at her heels like a faithful sehlat, leaving the under-dressed agent-in-training to stare after them.

#

Hoshi Sato looked up from her console and gave the captain a nod. At her signal, Archer began to speak.

"This is the captain. All hands to battle stations. Prepare for boarding. Protect yourselves but use non-lethal force if at all possible. Starfleet wants these boarders alive. Set phase pistols to stun," he announced. Hoshi nodded approvingly and cut the comm. Archer shot her a half-smile.

"How much time do we have left?" he asked tensely. Hoshi could feel the pressure building on the bridge. They'd never before been forewarned to the minute that a hostile boarding party was on its way. The wait was interminable, especially since they had no idea exactly where on the ship the Romulans would appear, or even what they would look like. She assumed that they would resemble Vulcans after what she'd recently learned, and be armed to the teeth. Everything else was anyone's guess.

"Thirty seven seconds remain before the deadline," said T'Pol calmly.

_Leave it to a Vulcan to do a second-by-second countdown_, Hoshi thought wryly. Their first officer didn't even look nervous, even though she was the only person on the bridge besides Hoshi to understand what was at stake. Hoshi found herself wishing that she could somehow prevent what was about to occur. Although she had no intention of concealing her findings about the Romulan transmission from Starfleet, she had not yet made an official report, and the impending arrival of this agent aboard _Enterprise_ had pushed up the timetable for the revelation of the Vulcan/Romulan connection dramatically. It occurred to her then that she probably should have warned the captain, or at least alerted Malcolm as chief of security, to the fact that the newcomers would very likely be as strong as Vulcans but without the Vulcan reluctance to kill. It was too late to do that now, though. She could only hope that the phase pistols and a five minute warning would be enough.

Malcolm Reed came rushing onto the bridge, back in the nick of time after escorting the Betazoid to the brig. He replaced the nervous-looking young ensign at tactical. "Don't fire upon the Romulans unless they fire first, Lieutenant Reed," Archer reminded him. "We don't want to kill the informant before he has the chance to get aboard."

"Aye, sir," replied Malcolm briskly. His eyes scanned his console. "The Romulan ship just decloaked… a half kilometer to port!"

A high-pitched whine startled Hoshi, and she spun around in her seat. Three red EV suited figures materialized on the bridge directly in front of the turbolift. They each held two unfamiliar looking sidearms, one in each hand. The two on either side held their weapons wide, each covering a member of the bridge crew. As Hoshi pulled her hands cautiously away from her console and began to raise them, wondering why it hadn't occurred to her that the boarding party might beam to the bridge, the central figure crossed his arms over his chest and fired two sustained bursts of intense energy. The boarders to either side of him arched their backs in agony and were completely and abruptly consumed in flame. A second later, nothing remained of them but a scattering of black ash. Malcolm had pulled a phase pistol out by then, but none of the bridge crew had had the opportunity to fire at the boarding party, now reduced in number to a single individual. The figure placed both weapons back into holsters at his waist and raised both hands to his own head level. His faceplate was still opaque. It was impossible to tell anything about his appearance except for the number and arrangement of his limbs. Hoshi guessed that the weapons were hand-held disruptors based on the damage they'd inflicted. She'd seen what the ship-mounted disruptors could do while analyzing the data sent from _Lerteiran_.

"Peace, and long life," said the figure in unaccented Vulcan, as his right hand, still held at face level, split into a ta'al.

"Live long, and prosper," responded Archer, in the same language but with a slightly more archaic intonation. Every head on the bridge swiveled to stare at him in shock. He blandly returned the ta'al, ignoring his crew's general consternation. Hoshi stifled a smile. Apparently Jonathan Archer had picked up a few language pointers from Surak's katra that he hadn't bothered to tell anyone about. She studied him. His demeanor had changed subtly. It was hard to put a finger on the difference, but he seemed older somehow, more self assured and solemn.

"Thou art welcome aboard our vessel, Declared One," Archer continued formally in High Vulcan. "We hope to share both thy wisdom and thy alliance."

_Declared One?_, thought Hoshi. The term was vaguely familiar. She thought it might be an historical reference from something she'd read about the time of Surak. Maybe it was the faction that had rejected Surak's teachings. Or was it what his closest followers were called? She couldn't remember.

The EV suited alien was silent for several seconds. Although it was impossible to see his facial expression, Hoshi got the distinct impression that he was startled.

"I had not expected to encounter a student of Vulcan history aboard a Human starship, Captain," replied the alien in a surprised tone. "I regret now that I am unable to accept your invitation, but in deference to your observance of our traditions, I will make every effort to convince my superiors to share my information with your people..." As he spoke, his outline began to shimmer, and the whine of a transporter once again filled the bridge. Hoshi's eyes cut to Malcolm, who was frantically bringing up sensor readings. As the alien vanished, the captain turned to his Chief of Security.

"What happened? Did the Romulans take him back?" Archer asked urgently, suddenly losing his near-Vulcan façade.

"No, sir," replied Malcolm, shaking his head in disgust. He looked up from his sensor screen. "It's the _Sehlat_, sir. The Vulcans beamed him directly to their brig and activated their sensor baffle. We've lost him."

The captain settled back into his chair. He exhaled heavily, his expression displaying a combination of irritation and puzzlement. "Malcolm, please go see how our two remaining guests are getting along, and ask them to report to my ready room at their earliest convenience." Archer didn't look back when he gave the order, but just stared at the front view screen with a preoccupied expression. Hoshi couldn't figure out what he found so interesting. It still showed nothing but the barren, rocky planet they currently orbited and a long distance view of the _Sehlat_, with the _Lerteiran_ clinging to her ringed silhouette like a lumpy oversized barnacle.

Malcolm cleared his throat, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Erm... Captain?" Archer looked back at him impatiently. "Agent Senek's still in your ready room, sir... likely still unconscious on the floor. I had to stun him to convince him to cooperate." He half-smiled apologetically. "And I wouldn't move Damin out of the brig while the Romulan ship might still be in the vicinity. Doing that would just be an invitation to attack us, in my opinion. Next time they might decide not to bother about taking him alive."

Archer's brow went up. Then he nodded slowly while a hard and determined look came into his eyes. "Let's go wake up Senek, then, Lieutenant." He didn't seem overly concerned about the Vulcan agent's health. Neither did Malcolm. "Someone is going to tell me what the hell is going on here," continued Archer with sudden harshness, "Even if I have to start breaking heads to get information." Hoshi winced, but kept her attention on her console. She suddenly realized that she had never been tempted to feel pity for a Vulcan before, but she would not have traded places with Senek just then for all the latinum on Risa.

_So much for my attempts to preserve Vulcan/Human relations,_ she thought, resigned. _It looks like the shit has hit the fan._

#

The _Aehallh_ passed between _Enterprise_ and _Sehlat_, cloaked once again after a two second exposure which, oddly enough in Sienae's opinion, had been completely ignored by all three vessels in firing range.

"Lock on to the Betazoid and bring him aboard," she ordered. The young centurion who'd replaced Llahir at tactical worked his controls with slightly desperate urgency. He searched the screen with his eyes, and then reset the scanner controls. She could see perspiration break out on his forehead. Sienae gritted her teeth and resisted the urge to backhand the boy. What was his name? She studied him as he gradually became more frantic in his search.

That was it. Centurian Khaiell. A handsome young man, but somewhat high strung.

"I can't find him, Commander." The boy's voice cracked a bit, and he swallowed, staring across the bridge to the wall beyond Siennae's right shoulder. "I believe they've hidden him with a sensor baffle. There is an area of the ship I am unable to scan."

Sienae exhaled forcefully. Damin would regret this. She'd had plans to kill him quickly and painlessly, but he deserved pain now—a great deal of pain.

"Locate the boarding party. Prepare to decloak and retrieve them. We'll have to try again at a later time," she said. Khaiell nodded and turned back to his scanners. Sienae settled herself into the command chair and waited for him to confirm his readiness. Seconds ticked by. Finally, she turned toward him inquiringly. He was perspiring again.

"I can't find any of them, Commander," he nearly squeaked. "Vulcan life signs are indistinguishable from ours, and there are two beings on the Human ship who could be either Romulan or Vulcan, but all three EV suits were fitted with homing beacons. None of the beacons are on _Enterprise_." Sienae blinked at him in disbelief. Then she rose from her chair, stepped to the tactical console, and shouldered the boy aside. She repeated the search herself with identical results before stepping back to consider the ramifications. She forcefully suppressed the frustration welling within her and crossed her arms over her chest, absently staring at the scanning images as she mused.

The Humans knew in advance. There was no other reason for them to have placed Damin in a protected environment. They must have done the same with the boarding party, but how had they done it so quickly? Damin couldn't have known about her plans. His telepathic range was only a kilometer or so at best, and from that distance he was merely an empath.

_It was Llahir's idea to lead the boarding party,_ she realized. He'd claimed to be trying to redeem himself. At the time, she'd considered it very atypical behavior for her generally over-cautious and emotionless second in command. He'd always been that way in the decade they'd served together aboard the _Aehallh_—bland and boringly unresponsive to anything, good or bad. Like a Vulcan.

"**Fvadt!"** she spat. She stepped back up to the sensor panel. Seconds later she found what she was looking for on the _Sehlat_. The signal from the single remaining homing beacon was strong for all of 1.5 seconds, and then it was swallowed up in another sensor baffle field.

The filthy _sseikae_ had deceived her. For _ten years_ he'd lied to her. She decided then that Damin would have a companion in her brig. And both of them would provide her with many hours of entertainment—very soon.

#

Damin locked his teeth together and clenched his fists. She couldn't reach him here. He must believe that. Her sensors couldn't find him, otherwise why would She be so angry and frustrated? That was the only possible explanation. Her rage was a good thing for once. It meant that he was safe. If She thought She had him, She would be happy, not angry. He kept telling himself that until the fear began to stabilize a bit.

The thought patterns were confused and confusing on this ship. Human minds were undisciplined and completely open, which meant that he was getting _everything_ from _everyone _simultaneously. But in a strange contradiction, Archer's peculiar mind shield had allowed Damin to pick out his mind from the midst of the other Humans aboard. This, plus the presence of the Vulcan woman who was bonded to the young Mr. Tucker, a surprising situation he had certainly not expected to encounter, let him track progress enough to be aware of the boarding party's arrival.

Damin felt the Romulan's death screams begin and clapped his shield into place by sheer reflex. When he carefully opened a partial probe again, all three intruders were gone. A gingerly applied touch against the Vulcan's mind informed him that the Vulcan spy had been transported to _Sehlat_, without bothering to tell anyone aboard _Enterprise _, of course. Damin snorted. Typical Vulcan behavior. Yes, he had chosen the proper refuge.

She was still within transporter range, though. He could feel Her emotions clearly. He was trapped in the brig now. It was the only safe place to be. In fact, there was no possibility of getting him out of this brig, except maybe with a photon torpedo, unless they offered him a portable sensor baffle. Since the only portable sensor baffle he'd ever seen was in the hands of the Vulcan High Command, Damin doubted that he would be going anywhere for a while.

No doubt Mr. Reed and Captain Archer would be down soon to talk to him, and probably the Vulcan woman as well. Meanwhile, all this tension had exhausted him. The bunk looked at least as comfortable as the shelf he was stuck with on _Lerteiran, _and the brig was toasty warm. Thank all the deities that Earth was a temperate planet, or at least that Humans obviously preferred a temperate climate. Damin settled himself on the bunk with a grateful sigh of relief. Perfect.

He was asleep in two minutes.

#

"There's something going on over there," Sehlra told him thoughtfully, sipping her coffee as she reviewed the progress the Vulcans and Commander Tucker had made in her absence.

Jenrali nodded. Sehlra was right. The Vulcan repair team was tense. Naturally, being Vulcan, they did their best to hide it, but both Andorians had been trained long ago to detect abnormal variations in Vulcan body language, and these Vulcans were broadcasting stress like an alert siren. T'Riss did not deny that there seemed to be something wrong, but swore she had no idea what it might be.

The Human engineer had headed back to _Enterprise_ in the middle of beta shift to get some well-deserved sleep, leaving the wrap-up to the Vulcans. Sehlra seemed to be in a much better mood after several hours of rest. They all should have been, but bunk time didn't seem to have improved relations between the two younger members of the crew.

And that was another matter. The girl had appeared for duty this morning looking unusually preoccupied about something. She'd never been much of a talker, but this morning she was even quieter than usual, avoiding conversation, especially with Daniel. Jenrali wondered if sending her to Daniel had been a bad idea after all. Plus, the boy was wandering around in a daze, barely able to focus on his job. The old man growled softly to himself. This kind of _plortkes _was not acceptable. Not on his ship. To use Daniel's own saying against him, the boy needed to pull his head out of his ass.

"Keep a close eye on things and let me know if you spot anything else," he told Sehlra. She indicated assent and he added, "I better get back up there before the lad dozes off and sends us crashing through both ships and straight into the nebula." Jenrali stalked off toward the ladder, twisting his antenna in disgust. As he climbed he heard Sehlra barking unnecessary orders, venting her concern by micromanaging the torque application on every bolt head.

Daniel was desultorily playing with the sensor board when Jenrali emerged from the ladder well. The young Human wore a dreamy smile and a faraway look in his eyes. Jenrali gave him a sharp glance as he headed for the pilot's seat and settled in front of the controls. As he absently began to run a standard checklist, a small indicator caught Jenrali's eye. His eyebrows pulled together and he keyed in a series of commands to begin a superficial diagnostic.

"_**By the life-giving teats of the Great Mother herself, lad! Are you trying to kill us all?" **_Jenrali leaped from his pilot's seat and dove for the console where Daniel sat. He backhanded the young man away and frantically stabbed at the controls.

Daniel sat on the floor and rubbed the side of his head, looking offended. "I was just running through some simulations on the targeting scanners, Boss. There was no reason to go crazy on me."

"No reason... crazy...!" Jenrali sputtered. "You powered up the phase cannon _and _the torpedoes! While we were docked! And what's even worse, you didn't unlock the clamps for the torpedo launcher. Even if you'd fired it, the torpedo wouldn't have launched. You know that, fool! It would've just sat there and detonated against our belly. What's wrong with you, lad?" Jenrali demanded in disbelief.

Daniel blinked. "Oh."

"Oh? That's what you have to say for yourself? Oh?" Jenrali stood over Daniel and stared at him, outraged.

"I'm sorry, all right?" Daniel said defensively. "Nothing happened. It's no big deal. Let's just get back to work." Daniel shifted his weight and started to stand up, then froze in obvious alarm at Jenrali's next words and sat back down again with his eyes fixed on his captain.

"No. Big. Deal." Jenrali whispered in a rasp sharp enough to slice tritanium. "You came within a Slime Devil's track of blowing up the ship and you think it is No Big Deal. You almost fired a phase cannon through the side of a Vulcan battle cruiser and you think it is No Big Deal." He stopped to seethe quietly for a few breaths. "You are relieved of duty and confined to quarters until further notice. Get out of here before I break your neck." Daniel looked up and started to open his mouth. _"MOVE!" _Daniel moved.

#

"He what?" Sehlra demanded, nonplussed. Jenrali repeated his brief description of the scene between himself and Daniel. The Andorian woman groped behind her and eventually found the co-pilot's seat. She sank into it, looking clubbed.

"Daniel hasn't made that kind of mistake since he came aboard," Jenrali continued in frank bewilderment. "_Rekloq._ The boy has _never_ made that kind of mistake. He just isn't that stupid or careless. Something is wrong with him." He started pacing across the limited area of the control room.

"That mind slut." Sehlra's antennae drew back into attack mode. "She damaged him," the old woman declared between shining teeth.

Jenrali considered this. "Seems possible," he allowed. "But why did it take so long to show up? And why didn't that doctor on _Enterprise_ catch it?"

"He's Denobulan," Sehlra pointed out. "Maybe he doesn't know as much about Humans as he likes to claim." Her eyes were hooded. "And who knows what that bitch did to him, or how long it takes for her poison to work through the system? Whatever she did could still be in him, still working its way through him. I say we go get the whore and wring it out of her. And no _rekloqvori inler plortkes netvitkec _about mercy this time."

Jenrali stopped and thought deeply for a few minutes. "First things first. It's obvious something is not right with Daniel. I think you're right. That doctor on _Enterprise _might not be up to standard with Humans, but Vulcans have been allies with Humans for a hundred years. A Vulcan healer ought to at least know the basics, shouldn't he? And a Vulcan battle cruiser carries a healer plus two assistant healers-in training. There are two cruisers in this end of space plus a medical transport at the Orion station, so that would give Daniel six medics plus an entire shipful of healers from a race that has been working on his people for a century... compared to one Denobulan that might or might not know what he's doing."

"And we're already docked with _Sehlat_," Sehlra announced decisively. She slapped her knees and stood up; looking a bit heartened by the prospect of something concrete to do but still sufficiently worried to be brisk about it. "Let's get the boy over there and have him checked out."

"You go back down to the engine room and make sure that repair crew doesn't turn the reactor upside down," Jenrali told her jokingly, trying to lighten her mood. "I'll take the lad over there and give you a full report. I swear it on my honor." Sehlra hesitated with her jaw clenched, but then grunted in agreement and turned to climb down the ladder. Jenrali keyed the intercom, "Crewman T'Riss, report to the control room immediately."

The Vulcan girl emerged, looking mildly curious. "I need you to take the watch while I escort Daniel over to _Sehlat _," Jenrali told her briskly. "I don't know how long it will take. Sehlra is in the engine room if you need her."

T'Riss blinked. "With respect, Captain. Why does Mr. Johansen require an escort? I could certainly provide one and save you the time and trouble."

Jenrali sighed. "I hoped to avoid discussing this with you—at least until we were sure what the problem was. But you have a right to know, since it affects ship's operations." He stopped and made an unhappy face. "Daniel was behaving erratically earlier. Sehlra and I suspect that the damage Raijiin inflicted may have resurfaced."

The girl managed to keep all expression off her face, quite a feat for such a youngster, Jenrali admitted to himself, but she flinched and even gave back a half step. He went on, "I'm taking him over to _Sehlat _so their Healer can have a look at him. We figured a Vulcan medic might have more information available about Humans than a Denobulan."

T'Riss stiffened. "I am not qualified to judge the relative merits of medical personnel, but, if there is any way that I can be of assistance do not hesitate to call upon me."

"You might at that," Jenrali had a sudden thought. "You could call ahead and let them know we're coming. Make sure that there won't be any problems with regulations. You know what I mean."

"Certainly." T'Riss immediately moved to the communications console and began operating the controls. "_Sehlat_, this is Crewman T'Riss aboard _Lerteiran _requesting medical assistance." Only a few seconds of silence passed before the answer came.

"_Crewman T'Riss. This is Healer Tyvek aboard __**Sehlat. **__State the nature of your request. _

"Healer Tyvek," T'Riss replied. "We have a Human crewman who requires immediate assistance. Request permission to bring him to _Sehlat _for treatment."

"_Human? You refer to Mr. Johansen? Why did you not contact the Human ship for assistance?" _

"With respect, Healer Tyvek," T'Riss told him firmly, "Mr. Johansen's commanding officer believes the medical facilities available aboard _Sehlat _to be superior to those available aboard _Enterprise. _"

"_Indisputably." _The note of smugness in Tyvek's voice came through clearly. _"Authorization approved. I will notify Security to escort your Human directly to sickbay upon arrival." _

"Acknowledged. _Lerteiran _out." T'Riss turned to look at Jenrali, who gave her an encouraging smile and headed for the ladder. He stepped off onto the quarters deck with a hopeful spring. Whatever else anyone said about Vulcans, their medicine was second to none. If anyone could help Daniel it would be a Vulcan Healer.

Daniel's door was surprisingly quiet when Jenrali hit the announcer button. "Lad, it's me. Open up." He waited a few seconds before striking the portal with his fist. Nothing. Jenrali leaned forward and touched his antennae to the door. He held a steady breath long enough to confirm a clear _tlasp. _The flow was smooth and uninterrupted. Just to make sure, Jenrali overrode the lock code and took a quick glance inside. The room was empty.

Daniel had disobeyed orders. A flash of irritation passed swiftly. The lad wasn't to blame, not if he was suffering brain damage. So where was he?

There were only two likely spots. Either he was pestering Sehlra or he'd gone down to visit the passengers. Jenrali's mouth quirked up as he ambled toward the ladder. If he was with Sehlra then she would scoot him back up the ladder quickly enough. And if Daniel had snuck down to steal a snuggle he would keep until Jenrali got there. Unless...

Unless he wasn't either place. Unless the lad had gone completely crazy and decided to go outside for some reason.

Jenrali leaped for the ladder and slid down the side rails without bothering with the rungs. He hit the deck plates and spun to see Sehlra staring at him, along with several startled Vulcans. No Human in sight. Jenrali spat a silent curse and strode out of engineering, headed for the cargo hold at top speed.

#

Natolya stretched and wriggled deeper into the silks on her bunk. She yawned and smiled in lazy pleasure, feeling satisfied for the first time since the Vulcans had attacked the station. If she had known that a Human boy would be this much fun, she would certainly have cajoled Grigor-Tel into capturing one for her as a pet years ago. Few males of any race were capable of mating three times in a single night. And that tongue... Why hadn't anyone ever told her Human tongues were prehensile? She shivered in anticipation of the night to come.

As if summoned by her thoughts, the hatch popped open and Daniel slipped through. Natolya sighed. She could not have him wandering in here openly like this. Those Andorians would never tolerate it, much less that Vulcan harridan. But still, it might be amusing to see how long it took him to figure out which one of them had visited him last night. The boy stopped and looked around eagerly, searching every face. Natolya hid beneath her bedcover. A flash of frustrated irritation showed in Daniel's eyes. He started walking down the aisle, looking from side to side and breathing deeply through his nose in an instinctive effort to catch her scent. The other girls watched with attitudes that ranged from amused to sympathetic.

The Human reached the far end and started back. He was beginning to look desperate. Natolya could barely suppress a giggle. She really shouldn't let this continue, she told herself. But he was _so cute _like this. The other women were so absorbed in watching Daniel that the loud clank of the door latch releasing made several of them jump. Natolya stiffened in nervous anticipation and hastily turned her face toward the wall, pulling a blanket over her shoulders. If that Vulcan came in she would recognize her instantly, but it was the Andorian man, the captain, who stalked in looking disturbed.

"_Oh dear,"_ she suddenly realized, _"He's been in Orion space before, many times." _This was a potential problem. If Jenerli... Jenrali? If Jenrali recognized the symptoms that Daniel was displaying he might resent it, either from jealousy or because Daniel might not be _quite_ as effective at his job as he used to be. Natolya chewed her lip unhappily. Perhaps a change of quarry was in order.

No, if she seduced the captain he might crash the ship, and his mate would surely come hunting for whoever had touched her man. Natolya clenched her teeth and wondered if it might have been prudent to have thought things through a bit more before she indulged herself.

"Daniel," the captain barked. Then more gently, "Come along, lad. We don't have time for this."

Natolya watched the Human bristle and winced, but she dared not get up and calm him. Daniel shook his head violently and declared, "No! She's here. I know she's here. I have to find her."

Jenrali's face darkened. "We have no time for fun and games, lad. You're coming with me. Now."

Daniel stuck his jaw out and declared, "No," he glared defiantly.

Natolya froze in shock. At no point did she actually witness any of the Andorian's movements. There was only a confused impression of the old man lunging forward, seeing the Human crouch and bring up his arms to block, hearing the dull meaty slap of flesh impacting flesh, and watching the younger man being twisted and forced to his knees accompanied by a dull popping sound from his shoulder joints. Daniel gasped in pain and howled, "All right! You win!"

"Stand up," Jenrali said calmly, standing behind him with a firm grip on both of the Human's crossed arms. Daniel struggled to his feet with a moan. Even Natolya could not keep from feeling a touch of sympathy. She had seen Andorian warriors before, but not often. The Andorians who came into Orion space were generally renegades or civilian traders. She understood now why Grigor-Tel had labeled this ship off-limits to his raiders.

The two men went through the hatch without further incident, leaving the ladies free to burst into chatter about all the excitement.

#

Jenrali was disgusted, despite his concern for the lad. Open mutiny was too much. Had it not been for Daniel's years of loyal service and his own conviction that the Human was not responsible for his actions; the aged veteran would surely have thrown the fool out the airlock. Partner or no partner, _no one_ challenged him on his own ship.

The youngster kept twisting and whining about wanting to go back to the cargo hold. Jenrali impatiently gave Daniel's arms an upward wrench. "Shut up."

"You want her for yourself," the lad babbled and started trying to pull free again. "You can't have her! She's mine!" Jenrali freed one hand long enough to cuff Daniel behind the ear. He staggered sideways and finally subsided into sub-vocal grumbling. Jenrali growled in relief when the airlock came into view. He rammed Daniel face first into the bulkhead, silencing the young fool briefly, and held him in place with a knee in the small of his back while he activated the door control. When it opened Jenrali dragged his quarry through the portal behind him backwards. The two Vulcans standing guard on the far side of _Sehlat's _portal gave the pair of them odd looks but made no snide remarks.

"This way," one of them told Jenrali, and then he took off down the corridor. Jenrali drew in another deep breath and aimed Daniel like a pushcart at the Vulcan's back. It was not a pleasant trip. By the time they made it to sickbay the Andorian was seriously reconsidering the option of kicking the lad through the airlock, or at least dumping him off with the Vulcans and leaving. Unfortunately, Sehlra would have his antennae if he tried it.

The Vulcan healer came out of the treatment area looking distracted. He turned his head toward the new arrivals with a blank gaze for a moment, and then the light of remembrance came into his eyes. "Captain Jenrali, Crewman Johansen. I am Healer Tyvek. What do you need?" His words were brusque, which suited Jenrali fine. He was in no mood for chit chat.

In a series of equally chopped off sentences he gave Tyvek a concise description of Daniel's recent behavior, ending with, "We wanted you to take a look at him. I don't know anything about that Denobulan, but I do know that you Vulcans have been working on Humans for a century. If that doctor on _Enterprise _screwed up you should be able to tell, shouldn't you?"

Tyvek looked grim. "Certainly. But let us not jump to conclusions. All of the information available to me indicates that Dr. Phlox is well qualified." He approached Daniel, who had taken a seat where Jenrali dumped him and waited with hanging head. "Mr. Johansen? Can you hear me?"

Daniel raised his head and snarled, "Of course I can hear you. I'm not deaf." Tyvek did not react visibly.

"Will you come with me into the examination area?"

"Do I have a choice?" Daniel complained.

"Certainly," Tyvek told him. "I cannot and will not treat you against your will."

"Good." Daniel snapped to his feet and turned to leave, running directly into Jenrali and bouncing backward.

"Lad," the Andorian told him pleasantly, "Either you go with him and let him take care of you, or I tell Sehlra that you refused...and then you can answer to her. Either way, you are _not_ setting foot back on the ship until you get treated."

Daniel flushed and tightened his fists. He spun around and stomped toward the exam area like a child having a temper tantrum. Tyvek and Jenrali traded a glance. "I have heard that Humans are prone to emotional outbursts," Tyvek noted. "Is this type of behavior typical?"

"No," Jenrali told him in a worried tone. "Not even close." Tyvek nodded and followed Daniel, with Jenrali tagging along unremarked in the rear. He watched Tyvek direct Daniel to stretch out on the nearest biobed and start scanning. The Vulcan's eyebrows rose into his hairline, and he turned to access a data terminal. After checking some references briefly, he turned back to the biobed and made several adjustments on his scanner. Tyvek repeated the scans twice. Then he stepped back.

"Are you currently taking any medication, Mr. Johansen?" the Vulcan asked. "Did Dr. Phlox inject you with any long acting drugs?"

For the first time Daniel seemed to give some real attention to what was going on. His brow wrinkled. "No, not really. He said the stuff he shot in my eyes would stop the damage from getting worse. But after that all he did was stick in some stem cells."

Tyvek nodded. "I believe it would be logical to consult with Dr. Phlox about the scans I have just taken. Please remain on the biobed. You will be able to see and hear everything from your current location." Jenrali moved up to stand next to Daniel, with his antennae tightening.

The Denobulan's face filled the small view screen to overflowing. He smiled broadly and greeted Tyvek with, "Good afternoon, Healer Tyvek. Always pleasant to converse with a fellow medical professional. What can I do for you?"

"I have the young Human from _Lerteiran _in my sickbay," Tyvek informed him. "He presented, reluctantly, with his captain after displaying behavioral abnormalities. I would like you to review my scan data." He plugged the scanner into the data jack of the terminal and pressed a switch. Phlox put on an interested expression, obviously looking at the numbers as they streamed over.

"This is disquieting," Phlox noted, with an appreciable reduction in his good humor. "His respiratory rate and blood pressure are significantly elevated, as well as his heart rate. I recommend a mild sedative immediately unless other symptoms contraindicate such treatment."

"_**NO!"**_ Daniel sat up and swung his legs off the table in obvious panic. "You're not doping me up! You're all trying to keep me away from her! No!" He jumped down and ran for the door. Jenrali smoothly turned and delivered a forearm smash across the small of his back. Daniel screamed and buckled to the floor.

"Captain Jenrali!" protested Tyvek, rather loudly for a Vulcan. "There will be no violence in my sickbay...especially not against one of my patients. Any further such outbursts and I will order security to escort you back to your ship."

Jenrali picked up Daniel in his arms and put him back on the biobed. "Understood." He stepped back puffing. "But once that boy got moving neither of us were going to catch him. You've never seen him run."

"Perhaps not, but..." Tyvek gave up and started scanning Daniel again. "Would you submit to medication now?" Daniel nodded weakly and the Vulcan applied a hypo. Phlox watched from the monitor looking unhappily thoughtful.

"Captain Jenrali?" Phlox asked. "Do you know the 'she' that Mr. Johansen was referring to?"

Jenrali snorted. "I suppose it's one of those Orion whores we're carrying. I had to drag him out of there to bring him here." The Andorian looked irritated. Phlox jerked upright.

"Orion?" A new tone came into Phlox's voice. "You have Orion females aboard the same ship with a Human male?"

Jenrali looked sharply at the monitor. "Yes, we do. Is that a problem?" Tyvek turned from the biobed to glance between the two, listening intently.

"Potentially, yes," Phlox told them. "It might potentially be a very serious problem, depending on the circumstances and the intentions of the Orion females in question. Several months ago our ship was infiltrated by Orion spies who were operating under the guise of opening trading negotiations."

"That's one of their standard tactics," Jenrali agreed.

"I won't waste time with the details," Phlox told them, "but the relevant information here is that Humans are unusually susceptible to Orion pheromones. I discovered that the hormones in the Human emergency response system, what they call their 'fight or flight mechanism', interact with Orion pheromones. The resultant combination multiplies the pheromones' effect to many times the usual intensity seen with other humanoid species. All of the Human females aboard _Enterprise_ were virtually disabled by headaches triggered by the pheromones of only three Orion females. The Human males aboard were putty in their hands. They had no defense at all. Their own endocrine systems betrayed them."

"Then perhaps this is the issue at hand," Tyvek suggested. "What are the characteristic signs and symptoms? Are there confirmatory laboratory tests?"

"I would run serum analyses for elevated levels of cortisone, testosterone, and epinephrine. Especially testosterone," Phlox suggested. "The mental status exam should also reveal substantial increases in impulsivity and suggestibility and reductions in alertness and task perseverance."

"A logical approach," Tyvek agreed. He pulled an ampoule of blood from Daniel's wrist and walked over to his lab bench. A few buttons pressed later he announced, "The laboratory results, combined with my observation of the patient's mental status and the report of his commanding officer, confirm your diagnosis, Dr. Phlox."

Jenrali started feeling hot. "Are you trying to tell me that my crewman committed insubordination and mutiny because he was horny?" He whirled to glare at the unconscious figure on the biobed.

"Stop." Phlox didn't raise his voice, but somehow it caught Jenrali's attention. "Insubordination? Mutiny? Has he ever exhibited this kind of behavior before?"

Jenrali felt tired and sick. "No, never. The lad has always been a fine crewman. But I can't let this pass. This Orion _plortkes _is no excuse. He's been with Orion whores before and never acted like this."

"What were the circumstances?" Phlox asked. "When was he with Orion women before?" Tyvek grimaced in the background but made no comment. Jenrali looked puzzled.

"Why... at the brothels on the stations where we docked...or at the Selusian colony once when we had a special run. Why?"

"Please bear with me, Captain Jenrali," Phlox told him. "Can you describe in detail what Mr. Johansen did, and most particularly what he said?" Jenrali let his eyes unfocus and concentrated. A trained Andorian soldier learns the importance of noticing details and reporting them accurately and completely. He started with the incident on the bridge, noting with passing amusement how Tyvek jumped when he learned how close Daniel had come to blowing a hole in the Vulcan ship. Then he moved on through Daniel ignoring his orders, and finally being forced to subdue him in the cargo hold and march him to the _Sehlat _.

"The behavior you describe," Dr. Phlox told him gravely, "is, as you yourself said, by no means typical of a Human male who merely desires to mate. However, it is nearly identical to the behavior exhibited by members of the _Enterprise _crew who had been suborned by Orion females in their effort to take over our ship. Before you pass judgment on your crewman, Captain, I suggest treating him and letting him give you his side of the story."

"Your hypothesis then, Doctor, is that one of the Orion females aboard _Lerteiran _has decided to claim Mr. Johansen as her personal concubine?" Tyvek stepped into the conversation.

"It seems at least possible," Phlox replied. "Especially if the Orion girl didn't realize how potent her pheromones would be when used on a Human. A Klingon for example, or an Andorian, would merely become fixated on her to the exclusion of other females. She might have had no way of knowing that a Human would literally be driven insane."

"What is the treatment?" Tyvek wanted to know.

"The administration of an olfactory receptor blocker followed by two hours of isolation from further pheromone exposure. After two hours the patient should be recovered from the mental effects, but there will probably be difficulties with equilibrium and coordination for several days afterward, and a reduction in appetite related to side effects from the medication." Phlox grimaced and shrugged. "Humans tend to eat very little when they're unable to smell or taste their food. Light duty is recommended, and I would not suggest allowing the patient anywhere near critical systems." Phlox went on. "I have not been able to confirm this, but I suspect that periodic re-treatment with the olfactory blocking agent at twenty-four hour intervals would maintain immunity as long as there is continued risk of pheromone exposure, but as I said, that is only my theory."

"I'll be back in two hours to see what the lad has to say for himself," Jenrali snapped. He had heard all he could take. The old man whirled and stalked toward the door, seething. Deliberate or not, there was going to be some green hide flying when he got back to _Lerteiran _.

_Sehlra was right after all,_ he thought, _she just targeted the wrong whore. _He felt a tiny smile pull at the corners of his mouth. It might be more fun at that to tell Sehlra, and then stand back and watch.

#

A stinging slap to his right cheek brought Senek to muzzy awareness of his surroundings. He was lying on a thinly carpeted floor. His chest ached. A slap to his left cheek woke him completely, and he raised a hand, blocking a third incoming blow. He opened his eyes to find Commander T'Pol's wrist in his grip. She had a blandly efficient air about her. Over her shoulder, the Human captain and his security officer looked on with dismayed expressions.

"Thank you, Commander," he told T'Pol dryly. "That will be sufficient." She nodded, without apology, and stepped back to allow him the space to lever himself painfully off the floor and into the nearest chair.

"Do you require medical assistance?" T'Pol offered. "I can ask Dr. Phlox to..."

"That will not be necessary," he interrupted, "I will recover fully in a few hours." He glanced past her at the Humans, who were taking their seats opposite him at the table. There was no sign of the Betazoid. "I assume the crisis is over?" he ventured.

" If by that you mean the Romulans didn't destroy us...yes. The crisis is over," replied Archer coldly, "but the situation is far from resolved." He spoke quietly, but with a rumbling undercurrent that reminded Senek forcibly of Earth's active plate tectonics. "I have a boy in my brig who can't budge without bringing the Romulans back down on us. Meanwhile my _ally _has beamed a Romulan defector possessing tactical information which could prove crucial to Earth's defense directly from my bridge without so much as a by-your-leave. Before I call her and perhaps say something that both our worlds will deeply regret, I decided to give you the opportunity to offer me an explanation." He smiled, but unless Senek was seriously mistaken the teeth baring rictus was not intended to represent happiness. "What the _hell_ is going on here?"

"Romulan defector? Did you see this defector?" Senek asked, concerned. If the Humans had already made the connection...

" He beamed aboard in an EV suit, and was transported out within moments of his arrival," T'Pol answered quickly. "He spoke Vulcan." Archer gave her a quelling look. She sat back, folding her hands in her lap.

Senek exhaled in relief, nodding. "I wasn't party to the decision to take our agent from you without discussion, Captain," he said in a conciliatory tone, "but I assume that Commander T'Lar believed there was insufficient time for debate. She saw an opportunity to protect our agent from recapture by the Romulans and she took it."

" The man beamed aboard my ship and placed himself in my custody, Agent Senek." Archer stated in a flat monotone. "Your commander had no right..."

"The man on your bridge was a Vulcan, Captain, not a Romulan. He was therefore Commander T'Lar's responsibility," Senek countered, studying Archer's face. The captain was impressively controlled—for a Human. To Senek's surprise, Archer stopped arguing at that point and sat back in his chair, contemplating Senek with a calculating expression.

"Mister Reed," said Archer in a disturbingly quiet tone, "escort Agent Senek to sickbay while I have a discussion with Commander T'Lar about the exchange of tactical information among allies." He bared his teeth again, this time showing only enough to reveal the points of his lower teeth, to Senek's discomfiture.

#

T'Riss sat at _Lerteiran's_ helm, doing nothing vital except contemplating her guilt. The front view screen was inactive, leaving her with only a blank wall to focus on while her mind sifted through various painful possibilities.

_What if I am responsible for doing permanent harm to an innocent man?_ was her primary thought. _I convinced Raijiin to use her influence on Daniel._

If he was now irrevocably damaged, how could she possibly make amends? What would he do if Captain Jenrali found him too unreliable to continue as crew? In the short time that she'd known Daniel Johansen, she'd come to realize that he considered _Lerteiran_ his home; the scarred old Andorian couple were his family. She had no idea if the Andorians felt the same way. They were too fierce, too difficult to understand, and always talking about latinum. What if they turned him out? He'd be alone then, and unable to care for himself due to mental incapacity—an incapacity for which she was responsible. An apology was insufficient, she decided, and she had no money with which to make any financial provision for his care.

After some thought, it occurred to her that the pre-Surak literary works she'd been so fond of as a child provided her with a solution to her dilemma. She'd stolen such works from her father's library for years before leaving home for the academy, and hidden them beneath her bedclothes with an illuminated padd to read late at night. Before the reformation it had been commonplace for a Vulcan who'd wronged another to attempt to right that wrong by placing himself in service to the one who was wronged, thereby providing concrete recompense for the misdeed. The institution of a uniform penal code after the reformation had caused the practice to go out of favor, but she had vivid recollections of tales in which a penitent wrongdoer swore to uphold the honor of another with his life in repayment for his shameful actions.

After all she'd endured in the past several months, she was surprised that she was still idealistic enough to be attracted to the prospect, but she resolved that if Daniel Johansen's injury was found to be permanent she would place herself under his authority to serve him as he saw fit, whether he liked it or not. The obvious analogy to slavery inherent in the idea made her pause for a moment, and her fearful memories of captivity reasserted themselves, but she wrestled them down firmly.

_There is nothing to fear. He will be a kind and generous employer. It is more than I deserve._ She was repeating this to herself in a calming, meditative fashion when Captain Jenrali's roar echoed up the ladder well.

"SEHLRA!" he bellowed. He sounded distressed. It could only be over Daniel's condition. Perhaps she'd misjudged his feelings for the Human. A review of sensor readings revealed no activity at all. She set proximity alarms and left the bridge, taking the ladder down two rungs at a time.

T'Riss found the captain in quiet conversation with Sehlra at the entrance to the cargo bay, obviously trying to convince her of something. Her face was grim.

"Absolutely not!" Sehlra growled under her breath. "My boys are wrapping things up, and they'll be here any minute to help me. You're _not_ going in there!" Jenrali just rolled his eyes, leaving T'Riss to wonder momentarily about which "boys" Sehlra was referring to—until the three young Vulcan technicians from the _Sehlat_ that had been helping Sehlra with repairs appeared. They flanked her on all sides, standing impassively with their arms crossed waiting for orders. T'Riss stared at Sehlra, taken aback. There was obviously more to the old Andorian woman than T'Riss had realized if she was able to inspire such loyalty—in Vulcans, no less, and after only a few days of working together. The lean young man standing at Sehlra's right addressed Jenrali softly.

"Our commander has authorized us to assist, Captain Jenrali. There is no reason for you to risk yourself. We are immune, as is your engineer." He nodded respectfully toward Sehlra.

"Hurting Daniel may have been unintentional, Sehlra," Jenrali pointed out. "If you're going to restrain them instead of stunning or killing them, one guard apiece would be the easiest way until we sort this out. The last time I checked, there were five Orions in the bunch."

T'Riss looked from one face to the other, sorting out the puzzle. They were speaking of the passengers. Of the thirteen aboard, five were Orion females, and one of them had apparently assaulted Daniel. The realization sickened her. She had sat idly last night and listened while her crewmate was sexually assaulted, and done nothing at all to assist him. The fact that she had no way of know that the mating was non-consensual did nothing to decrease her sense of guilt. Her newly discovered duty to protect the Human asserted itself, and she stepped forward. "I will handle the fifth suspect," she volunteered. "Where are we taking them?" All heads turned in her direction. The Andorians looked surprised. The Vulcans didn't.

"To _Sehlat's_ sickbay for a positive identification by the victim," the Vulcan spokesman told her. Sehlra smiled a rather bloodthirsty smile.

"Then we'll know which one to kill," she said with enthusiasm. Jenrali sighed and rolled his eyes.

"All right. You win. I've got no desire to lose my wits over some green whore," he replied. He turned to the Vulcan engineer at Sehlra's side. "But I'm relying on you boys to keep the bloodshed to a minimum," he said, in all seriousness. The young man's eyes widened slightly in alarm, and Jenrali began to smile as he turned to head up the ladder to the bridge.

Sehlra slapped her hands together. "All right, then!" she announced, settling her hand on the pommel of the shock stick at her belt. She turned to the door and nodded to the leader of her team of Vulcan volunteers. "Centurian... after you," she said. The young man stepped to the door and knocked twice, firmly. There was silence initially, and then a hesitant female voice.

"Who is it?"

"My name is Samel," replied the Vulcan in a confident baritone. "I wish to speak with you. Daniel Johansen sent me." Sehlra shot him a warning look and shook her head, but the woman behind the door giggled.

"He told you about us, did he?" There was a hiss as the portal began to open. "Well, any friend of Daniel's..."

From the interior of the cargo bay, a woman's voice shouted, "No, Arialee! Don't open the door!" But it was already too late.

As soon as the portal was open enough to admit his hand, Samel inserted it into the gap and shoved it the rest of the way, eliciting a shriek from the girl at the door. She was Orion. He grasped her firmly by both upper arms and moved her bodily out of the way, allowing the rest of the party to enter the room. She struggled against his grip, to no avail. T'Riss followed the progress of the others with her eyes as they searched the room, rooting Orion women from beneath silken bedclothes and from under bunks. Her eyes narrowed. The room was in bedlam. Screams filled the air—and scents. T'Riss inhaled deeply. There was the smell of fear, certainly, and the perfumes with which she'd become familiar during her training at the brothel on the station, but there was something else. The musky aroma she remembered from the night before, when she'd believed Daniel to be indulging his carnal appetites, was also there. Regret pulsed briefly, but she stifled it.

Each of the group had found an Orion girl—everyone but herself. Sehlra seemed to be reveling in her role. The young woman in her grasp wasn't fighting at all, but kept her eyes fixed on Selhra's grimly satisfied expression like a sandhopper being stalked by a hungry sehlat. T'Riss inhaled again, and then looked down. A figure swathed in opaque silks crawled along the floor behind the bunks, trying to reach the exit behind her. It was moving with agonizing slowness, probably trying to mimic a pile of dirty laundry until the last possible second before making a run for it. Through the scent of fear, a familiar odor identified it as Daniel's attacker. T'Riss gritted her teeth to suppress the growl building in her throat and strode to the pile of bed linens. She ripped through them until she found a green throat, and then lifted with both hands. She bared her teeth when she discovered Natolya herself dangling in mid air. The woman's face began to turn from green to blue-green as she squeezed.

"T'Riss!" Sehlra barked. "Put her down, Crewman! That's an order!" Natolya's eyes rolled frantically in her head. T'Riss studied her face while she decided what to do. The desire for revenge welled within her, threatening to overcome all self control.

"_Train her for me, Natolya. Do a good job because I'm keeping this one!"_ Grigor-Tel's leering face presented itself to her mind's eye with perfect clarity. Natolya's response was equally clear.

"_Don't I always do a good job?"_ And then she'd _laughed_.

T'Riss tilted her head, inspecting the Orion's grimace. Natolya clawed at the grip around her throat, but she was getting weaker. She wasn't laughing now.

"T'Riss!"

Sehlra sounded incensed by her refusal to obey orders, and Sehlra was her superior officer. Years of conditioning compelled her to follow the proper chain of command. She opened her fingers and Natolya fell the two feet to the floor in an unconscious heap. T'Riss stood over her with fists clenched, breathing deeply. The room was suddenly silent save for the terrified sobs of the ex-slaves. Out of the corner of her eye, T'Riss saw Sehlra hand off her suspect to one of her Vulcan minions and then stroll casually across the room to peer over T'Riss' shoulder. The Andorian stretched out a booted foot and none-too-gently poked the lifeless looking heap on the floor with it, eliciting a low-pitched groan from the half-conscious Orion. She grunted noncommittally at the sound.

"Met this one before?" she asked T'Riss mildly.

"Yes," T'Riss replied through clenched teeth. Sehlra nodded.

"The Mother knows you have the right to kill every Orion that was on that station, but," she added with emphasis, "your orders are to take her to Daniel for a positive ID... _alive_. Think you can do that, Crewman?" T'Riss felt her face flush.

"Yes, ma'am," she answered stoically. Sehlra sighed and shook her head. If T'Riss hadn't known better, she would have thought the woman was amused—but, of course, the situation didn't call for amusement. She'd disobeyed a direct order. T'Riss steeled herself for a reprimand, but it never came.

"You took her out, so you get to carry her, Crewman," said Sehlra matter-of-factly. "Let's go," she said to the room at large, waving the others ahead of her. She took charge of the timid little Orion she'd handed off earlier and paused at the door, waiting for T'Riss to hoist her semi-conscious charge up onto her shoulders in a fireman's carry.

"There's no cause for alarm. We just need the Orions for a few questions," Sehlra told the rest of the frightened women gruffly while waiting. "Stay here. You're perfectly safe." Then she walked out with her Orion in tow. T'Riss followed her, feeling like a beast of burden.

The room was filled with the sound of agitated femininity before the hatch was even shut behind them.

#

Llahir pulled his right leg out of the EV suit liner, tossed the garment into the recycler and sighed in relief. Romulan EV suits were not designed for comfort. Once completely unclothed, he stepped into the ultrasonic shower, the only personal hygiene facility available in the _Sehlat's_ brig, and closed his eyes while the vibrations cleansed his skin. Afterwards, as he applied disinfectant gel, he wondered at the immobility of the Vulcan military. It had been thirty years since he'd been aboard a ship of the Vulcan Space Fleet, three decades since he'd begun to call himself Llahir—so long ago that his old name would no longer serve. In all that time, despite the new government and its lip service to diversity, it seemed that nothing had changed. The interior of the _Sehlat_ could have easily been the interior of any starship in service on the day he'd left, and despite the ready availability of water on virtually every planet besides Vulcan, it was apparently still unacceptable for Vulcan ship designers to "waste" wash water on prisoners.

Not that he was a prisoner, of course. His meeting with Commander T'Lar and her pet telepath had made the Vulcan Security Directorate's position quite clear. He was here for his own protection, and only until a portable sensor baffle could be obtained. The young commander, surprisingly young in his opinion, had been unfailingly courteous. She'd even volunteered the information that the Security Directorate had assigned a telepath to be his debriefing officer. Being near deaf to telepathy himself, he quite possibly would never have noticed had she not told him. Her forthrightness was either disturbingly naive or a cover for something more devious. He hadn't decided which yet. There was always the possibility that living with Romulans for thirty years had made him paranoid.

The little telepath puzzled him. When she'd walked in behind the commander in her ill-fitting ship's coverall with her face battered, bruised, and partially hidden behind a curtain of blonde curls he'd thought she was Human at first, though he knew that Humans weren't telepathic. She'd had no padd for note-taking or insignia of rank on her uniform, and had a subservient manner about her, as if she were accustomed to taking orders, but the commander had pulled the girl aside to consult with her immediately following Llahir's conversation, and seemed to be listening intently to what the girl had to say.

The girl Raijiin, he'd been told, was merely the trainee of the officer who was to be his interrogator. That officer was currently otherwise occupied, however, and so his debriefing was on hold for the time being. That would have been fine with him had he been able to at least get a shower and a decent meal. As it was, he was beginning to get a bit impatient.

He put on the undergarments and clean coverall with which he'd been provided and sat down on the bunk with his now room-temperature meal tray. The temperature of the food was irrelevant to him. He'd tasted it already, and no change in temperature could possibly make the meal any less palatable than it already was. He'd forced down only two bites when the door to the brig's central chamber opened and the timid looking little telepath returned, alone this time. She approached the transparent wall to his cell with an apologetic smile on her face.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but the captain has asked me to see to your needs until Agent Senek returns, and I couldn't help but..." she paused grimacing. "Well, I know you probably wouldn't have complained, but I have a really hard time stomaching the stuff myself," she said with a half-smile, indicating his dinner tray with one small, graceful hand.

Llahir cocked a brow at her. She could read his thoughts at such a distance and she was using that skill to determine his food preferences?

As soon as the thought crossed his mind she began shaking her head. "Oh, no sir," she claimed. "I could just tell you didn't like something. I assumed it was the food since...well...it _is_ pretty disgusting." She smiled prettily at him. "I'm not authorized to read any deeper than that." Which conveniently begged the question of whether she was capable of doing so and deliberately chose not to reveal that fact to him. Interesting.

"I could bring you something else. I've got a stockpile of Human food in my cabin," she offered.

"So, you are Human?" he inquired politely, making conversation while he tried to decide whether she was truly so innocent or merely excellent at faking it. Either possibility intrigued him. It generally took some doing for a woman to intrigue him, though it had happened occasionally in the previous thirty years. He had somewhat more frequently been the intriguing one. Romulan women were not known for their standoffishness. They had a tendency to aggressively pursue things that they thought were unattainable.

" No, I'm not. My home planet is called Oran'taku. It's in the Delphic Expanse," she told him, shrugging. "All I remember is being taken by raiders from my village...I think I was perhaps four or five years old. There is no way to know which village I was taken from, though." Her smile had a touch of sadness now. "It's just as well. From what little I remember of my childhood, my home was a place where everyone could read everyone else. I doubt my people would take me back after all I've done." Her mouth twisted. "Much too disruptive to the community's peace of mind."

Llahir nodded. He could see the problem. It was much like his. He looked down at the unappetizingly bland vegetable mash congealing on his plate, and then looked back up again.

" I would be very... pleased... to share a dish of your choosing, Agent-in-Training Raijiin," he told her. "Preferably something spicy enough to bring a bit of heat to the tongue."

#

Jonathan Archer took his seat in front of the comm console in his ready room. He had T'Pol and Hoshi sitting with him, more for moral support than anything else, and for advice after the fact. He wished he had Trip as well, but couldn't justify waking his chief engineer after the man had just spent nearly all of beta shift doing engine repairs on _Lerteiran_, especially in the face of his first officer's overt disapproval when he'd brought up the idea.

He took a deep breath, trying to summon the remnants of Surak's katra that he'd somehow dredged up from the depths of his subconscious at the sudden appearance on his bridge of the EV suited fugitive from the Romulans. At the time, it had seemed natural to respond to the man in Vulcan, and the look on Hoshi's face had been priceless. He still wasn't certain where the content of his greeting had come from, though, and something about the term "Declared One" made him uneasy.

Actually, these occasional reminders of his former guest always made him uneasy. He could never predict when they would occur, although it was most likely to happen during some kind of stress inducing situation involving Vulcans, which he supposed only made sense.

"What's the significance of the term 'Declared One'?" he asked Hoshi. She blinked at the apparent non-sequitur.

"I'm really not sure, sir," she replied, "Don't you know?" He smiled uneasily.

" I think I may have, once..." he replied in an uncertain voice. "I feel like I should know before I negotiate with T'Lar, though." He turned to his first officer. T'Pol was staring at him as if she didn't recognize him. "T'Pol? Any ideas?"

T'Pol's brow wrinkled, as if she were struggling inwardly with some mysterious Vulcan issue known only to her. Oddly, she exchanged a meaningful glance with Hoshi before she spoke.

"I believe the term refers to a subset of Vulcan society during the time of Surak," T'Pol said calmly. "They chose not to follow his teachings. Some of them later became V'tosh Katur."

Archer nodded slowly. Then his eyebrows drew together. The explanation felt incomplete somehow. Not false, just incomplete. But the greeting that had come to him made sense now. The Vulcan agent had spent years blending into a society which presumably was more emotionally expressive than the one he'd been born into. It would be logical to send a V'tosh Katur on a mission like that. A Vulcan firmly committed to the principles of Surak would have had much more difficulty fulfilling such a task. He exhaled, feeling much calmer and more prepared. A Vulcan who'd just spent years without the need to control his emotions might also find it harder to reintegrate into Vulcan society—perhaps even to the extent of such reintegration not being possible at all. It was a likely point of negotiation, at least.

"Open a comm channel to the _Sehlat_," he said to Hoshi.

Commander T'Lar's face appeared on the screen before him. It was probably just his imagination that she looked a bit more self-satisfied than usual. She nodded regally.

"Captain," she said, an acknowledgment rather than a greeting.

" Commander," he returned with similar gravity. "I take it that our rescue went as planned?" Her brow wrinkled slightly. In his newly sensitive state, his awareness of subtle Vulcan mannerisms heightened by his connection to Surak, he could see that she was puzzled by his statement.

"_Our_ rescue, Captain?" she replied. He smiled briefly.

"Agent Senek informed us of your request for assistance, Commander. We, of course, were only too happy to help you in any way we could." Her eyes widened slightly as he continued. "I've informed Starfleet Intelligence of your offer to share the information obtained from the agent retrieved by our joint efforts, and they're eagerly anticipating any useful intelligence. When can we expect to receive it?" Her lips parted, but no words came. He continued smiling. His statement about contacting Starfleet Intelligence was a blatant lie, of course, but she didn't know that.

"Our agent must be given time to rest and recuperate, Captain," she managed. "And I should inform you that Agent Senek did not have the authority to negotiate for..."

"I completely understand the need for rest before debriefing," Archer told her, blithely ignoring the second part of her statement. "We're doing the same with Agent Senek, who's in our sickbay. I'm afraid he was injured during the Romulan boarding action. He's stable, but our chief medical officer wants to observe him a little bit longer. I'll let you know when he's well enough to return." His smile broadened. "Keep us posted about things on your end, all right? I've got some eager Intelligence types breathing down my neck waiting for information about Romulan military deployment. I won't be able to keep them satisfied for long. I'd hate to see them raise a stink with the Vulcan High Council over such a minor thing."

Commander T'Lar swallowed. There was a distinct lull in the conversation, during which the two of them studied each other, T'Lar with obvious suspicion on her face. Archer did his best to maintain an openly innocent expression.

"I will have to consult with a representative of the Security Directorate to determine which information to share, Captain," she said sourly. "It may take a while."

"Take your time, Commander," Archer responded cheerily. "In the meantime, though, I think it would be best to finish up repairs on the _Lerteiran_ and get out of this area of space before the Romulans attack again."

T'Lar nodded, clenching her teeth in what, to Archer, looked like tightly controlled anger. "Agreed. I will check on the progress of repairs, and we will proceed to the station at our earliest opportunity. We will finish this discussion there."

The screen went dark, without further social niceties. Archer sat back in his seat with a satisfied sigh. Hoshi began to chuckle. T'Pol shot her a look. She sobered rapidly, still looking amused. T'Pol raised a brow and turned back to Archer, giving him an impressed nod of acknowledgment.

"I don't think I ever want to play poker with you, Captain," Hoshi said, shaking her head and biting her lip. "Should I get Starfleet on the line for you, sir?"

"Not quite yet," he told her. "Let's hold off until we see how Commander T'Lar responds. For that matter, we haven't really finished consulting with Mr. Damin yet. No reason for Starfleet Command to get their panties in a twist over this right now. Plenty of time for that later." Hoshi snorted and suppressed a giggle.

Captain Archer stood up tiredly. "You are both dismissed. Since we are," he stopped to check his chronometer, "three hours and twenty-nine minutes into gamma shift I think it's time we all called it a day. A hot shower and a few hours sleep will make a new man out of me."

"That does sound good," Hoshi admitted. "But I think a little time loosening up in the gym first will help me relax. Then I plan to sleep like a dead woman."

"Captain, if you have no objection I would like to proceed to sickbay. I consider it possible that I may be able to persuade Agent Senek to be somewhat more forthcoming than he has so far. At least I would like to make the attempt," T'Pol offered.

"By all means, Commander," Archer said, waving a dismissive hand on his way through the door. "You can't accomplish less than I did." He made his way toward his quarters, thanking his patron saints that the captain's quarters were located near his ready room. Once inside, Jonathan let the door hiss shut behind him and closed his eyes in relief. He sighed and his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. Shaking his head, he looked longingly toward the shower. But no. If he took a shower now he would be asleep before he made it back to his bunk, and he had something more urgent to take care of first.

Jonathan opened the recessed storage cabinet beneath his bunk and removed a cushion and a robe. He tossed the cushion on the floor next to his desk and smiled when Porthos instantly ran over and propped his head on the edge of it. The dog had become quite accustomed to this ritual and enjoyed the quiet time sitting with his master. Jonathan opened his desk drawer and withdrew a short candle with holder, and a lighter. He seated himself cross legged on the cushion, placed the candle on the floor in front of himself and lit it. The soothing scent began to help loosen tight muscles almost immediately.

Jonathan reached over and began to stroke Porthos. The beagle nuzzled his hand happily for a moment and then returned to resting on the cushion. Jonathan started deep breathing exercises and began sinking into meditation trance. He considered it to be the single most useful thing that Surak had taught him. Ever since discovering the Kir'shara, Jonathan had established a pattern of meditating at least a full hour every night whenever possible. The difference that it made in his thinking was remarkable. Hopefully, it would help him remember exactly what it was about the term 'Declared Ones' that roiled Surak's memories so much.

#

Hoshi kicked off her uniform boots with a moan of relief. For a minute she just worked her toes, seriously considering the idea of not going to the gym tonight. But her muscles had gotten used to the daily workout and if she didn't at least do some stretches and jog a little, she would certainly pay for it later. Might as well get it over with. No point in getting fancy tonight, though. Malcolm was no doubt already in his bunk, along with everyone else except the gamma shift. She slipped a band around her ponytail. Then she threw on a pair of loose shorts along with a worn t-shirt before sliding into her sneakers and heading out.

Hoshi was a few steps short of the gym door when she heard the clang of weights being lifted and dropped. She sighed. No doubt someone from beta shift was working off stress. Well, she wouldn't be there long. It didn't sound like the place was too busy anyway. Hoshi keyed the door and walked in to find Malcolm working out on the punching bag, while Trip was on his back doing bench presses.

_Shit! Shit, shit shit! After all the time and trouble I've been going through to make sure I always look good,_ she grumbled to herself, _he has to catch me like this. No makeup, hair a mess, wearing... Oh well. _Hoshi shrugged smiled brightly.

"Good evening, gentlemen," she sauntered over to the workout mats, careful to make sure that her hips were swaying just enough to look natural. "I wasn't expecting anyone else to be here at this hour."

"Trip… I mean," Malcolm stopped and cleared his throat uncomfortably. Hoshi stole a quick glance out of the corner of her eye and saw him inspecting her legs. "Commander Tucker and I were attempting to... I mean we've been discussing... we were trying..."

"We thought we might be able to figure out a way to pierce that Romulan cloak," Trip interjected helpfully, with a sadistic grin. "Malcolm has really been putting _all _of his attention into it."

"I'm not surprised," Hoshi murmured in a throaty voice, "Lieutenant Reed is a consummate professional." She was gratified to note that although he had not been sweating when she came in, he was now. Hoshi sat down on the mat nearest to the bag where Malcolm was working out and starting doing basic leg stretches.

Malcolm resolutely resumed punching. Hoshi considered her options and smiled. She glanced up and confirmed that Malcolm was still sneaking peeks whenever he thought she wasn't looking. Perfect. She positioned her rump flat on the floor and extended one foot in Malcolm's direction, with the other leg at right angles. Then she slowly, ever so slowly, bent forward toward Malcolm along the forward leg, reaching with her outstretched hands for her ankle. The movement caused her loose t-shirt to fall open at the neck, and also pulled the legs of her shorts into an intriguing position. She kept her eyes downcast and listened while the sound of fists hitting the bag slowed and stopped.

Hoshi took a deep breath and started to straighten back up. The punching hurriedly resumed and she bit her lip hard to keep from giggling. She didn't look toward Malcolm as she turned toward the other leg and repeated the motion. Standing toe touches produced very similar results, although he never - quite - stopped his workout again. An occasional snicker from the direction of the bench press was easily ignored.

Hoshi finally finished her stretching routine and moved over to the treadmill. To her delight, Malcolm decided that the punching bag was losing its appeal and perhaps the heavy bag would provide a better workout. Of course, it was pure coincidence that the heavy bag was three meters closer to the treadmills. She started at a slow walk and focused on deep breathing. She was starting to get warm, and sweat trickled down her chest, sticking the t-shirt to her breasts and nearly causing Malcolm to miss a side kick and take a header onto the gym floor.

"What are you planning for movie night this week?" Hoshi asked, hoping to cover Malcolm's slip and spare him the inevitable harassment at the hands of his friend.

Trip closed his mouth in mid-jibe and snorted. Then he shook his head and told her, "It's pot luck this week. With everything going on I haven't had time to look through the stack, so I'm just gonna go in tomorrow and grab one at random. What I grab is what we watch. Good, bad, or indifferent, we're stuck with it."

"Russian roulette, eh?" Malcolm shot her a grateful look, for once focused on her face. "Sounds feasible. It can't be any worse than some of those things you select."

"You British barbarian," Trip huffed. "You have no artistic sense, that's all."

" _**I **_have no artistic sense?" Malcolm demanded in disbelief.

"Now boys," Hoshi chided humorously.

"Absolutely none," Trip told him smugly. "You need to take Hoshi with you next time to explain the finer points of dramatic presentation. How about it, Hoshi? Think you could put up with this uncouth brute long enough to sit through a movie?"

"Me?" Hoshi was caught flatfooted. "Sure! I mean, I would enjoy that very much. If Lieutenant Reed wants to, of course." She looked at him and ran her tongue over her lip.

Malcolm's mouth worked several times before he managed. "Certainly. I would be very glad of your company. Very glad indeed. In fact I,… um, I usually, … um, I generally eat, …um, in the, you know, in the mess hall before, …um, you know, the ..."

"The movie starts at 1900," Hoshi suggested, putting him out of his misery. "How about we meet in the mess hall around 1730? Things are always crowded on movie night, and that should give us plenty of time to eat and still find a good seat."

"Excellent." Malcolm swallowed hard. "I will, …um, be looking forward to it. I mean, it sounds ..."

"Me too," Hoshi turned off the treadmill and headed for the door with a bounce in her step. "See you in the morning!" She grinned all the way back to her cabin.

#

As soon as Hoshi was out of earshot, Trip pulled his lip thoughtfully and regarded his friend with a mischievous glint in his eye. "So when is the big announcement?"

"Shut up."

Trip chuckled and reached for the weights again. "How long have you two had a thing for each other anyway?"

"We don't," Malcolm snapped. More calmly, "We're just meeting for a meal in the mess hall."

"Dinner in the mess hall, followed by a movie," Trip pointed out. "That sounds like a date to me."

"It's not a date!" Malcolm flushed and delivered a series of kicks and punches to the heavy bag that left it swinging wildly. "YOU were the one who set this up. You practically ordered us to do this! In any case she's a junior officer. It would be completely inappropriate."

"Take it easy, Malcolm," Trip soothed. "She's not in your line of command. Nobody is going to court martial you for going out with her."

"Technically she may not be in my line of command," Malcolm admitted. "But as chief of security, I am responsible for the safety of everyone aboard. It would be irresponsible for me to become involved with a shipmate."

"Even if you weren't chief of security," Trip pointed out, "You would still feel responsible for everyone around you. That's just the way your mind works. Are you going to spend your life alone because of what 'might' happen? Admit it, you couldn't take your eyes off her a few minutes ago."

Malcolm paused his routine while his face worked. Finally he gave up the struggle. "She did look rather... snackful in that outfit," he admitted with a half-smile.

Trip peeled a grin and chuckled.

#

T'Pol entered sickbay to find Phlox deep in conversation at his comm station. Since the face onscreen was that of Healer Tyvek, she concluded that a medical consultation was underway and forbore to interrupt them. Instead she went looking for Senek.

She found him reclining on a biobed, looking disgruntled. "Peace and long life, Senek," T'Pol offered politely. Senek sat up, visibly fighting down his irritation. He ignored her greeting.

"Have you come to release me from captivity?" he asked tersely. "Failing that, would you consider assisting in my escape? For old time's sake if nothing else? I truly grow weary of being imprisoned every time I set foot on this vessel."

"I regret that I have no authority to release you," T'Pol told him. "That's in the hands of Dr. Phlox and the captain. I just came down to talk."

Senek rolled his eyes. "Feel free to interrogate me at will. Discussing the situation with you is at least more agreeable than being questioned by Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed."

"I didn't come to interrogate…" T'Pol began.

"Commander?" Doctor Phlox called from across the room. "We have a situation here that involves Mr. Johansen. Are you currently the senior officer on duty?"

"Yes," T'Pol admitted, walking over. "But I'm ill equipped to assist with most medical problems, considering that both you and Healer Tyvek are available."

Phlox waved impatiently. "That's not what I meant." From the corner of her eye, T'Pol caught Senek sliding off the biobed and ambling over to eavesdrop with a curious expression. "It seems that Mr. Johansen has been assaulted by one of the Orion women aboard _Lerteiran_. He is currently being treated aboard _Sehlat _while an investigation is underway. Commander T'Lar requests that an _Enterprise _officer monitor the situation."

T'Pol tensed. "Certainly." She stepped closer to the screen. "Have you briefed Healer Tyvek on the Human hyper-vulnerability to Orion pheromones?"

"Naturally," Phlox huffed. "Just as soon as we realized what the situation was. There are five Orion passengers aboard _Lerteiran_. Engineer Sehlra is escorting them over so that Mr. Johansen can attempt to identify the woman who assaulted him."

"Does _Sehlat _have security officers in place?" T'Pol asked instantly. Senek twinkled suspiciously and rubbed his chin.

"Yes, Commander," Tyvek assured her over the comm. "Given Captain Jenrali's behavior when he was here earlier and extrapolating Sehlra's probable reaction to the situation, I decided that additional violence in my sickbay was not going to be tolerated." T'Pol forcefully kept herself from asking for further details of said violence.

Instead, she said, "You may proceed at your convenience, Healer Tyvek." The Vulcan physician turned away from the view screen and spoke to one of the guards standing beside the door, who turned and exited.

#

Daniel was humiliated beyond description. He was pissed off, ashamed of himself, and wanted to crawl off somewhere and die. He remembered all of it, and he felt about half a centimeter high. And now he had to sit on the edge of this biobed and watch these girls parade through while Sehlra stood there like his momma with a stern look on her face. And he couldn't even make a break for it because the door was guarded. Times like this made him remember that twenty day stretch in the slammer on Rigil with fond nostalgia.

To ice the cake, here came T'Riss with the first Orion girl's elbow in her grip. The poor kid looked terrified, meaning the Orion looked terrified, not T'Riss. To the contrary, his Vulcan shipmate looked like she had a bee in the bonnet that she wasn't wearing. In fact, looking more closely, Daniel noticed that the Vulcan security guard walking on the other side of the Orion was watching T'Riss more closely than he watched the supposed prisoner. Odd.

They stopped in front of him and T'Riss greeted Daniel with a respectful nod. He squeezed his eyes shut and sighed miserably. Sehlra hissed and a faint squeak emerged from the green girl in front of him. "Is this the one?" She demanded in his ear. Daniel forced himself to look up. The girl started shaking her head while tears poured down her cheeks.

If he could just smell anything he would be able to tell them, but that goop that Tyvek had shot up his nose had killed every olfactory nerve he had. Daniel tried to think. The only light had been from the washroom night light, and he remembered touching her, of course. Daniel sighed again.

"Too small," he told them. "She was taller, almost as tall as I am but not quite." T'Riss and the guard took the girl over to the side of the room, looking weak kneed with relief, and returned quickly with another one. Daniel groaned inwardly. One by one Daniel waved them past. While the march continued, he shamefacedly answered Sehlra's questions about what had actually happened.

"It's still not clear in my mind, not really," Daniel said glumly, waving away the third girl. "I was sound asleep. Then I started having this dream… or I thought it was a dream. I can't really say when I realized that I was awake and there really was a woman in bed with me. But I was just…" he stopped and locked his teeth together, unwilling to continue. How could he tell them? That he was insane with lust? That somehow she had stripped his mind away from him and turned him into a raging animal?

"I lost control," he finished lamely. He finally forced himself to raise his head, to see the rage building on Sehlra's face, along with a look of shame and sympathy from T'Riss. He closed his eyes again while clenching both fists. Reluctantly, he opened them and shook his head at the fourth prospect.

Finally the fifth and last one was brought in. For some reason both T'Riss and Sehlra seemed tenser than usual with this one. Vaguely interested, Daniel sat up and regarded her. Something twinged at the back of his mind. She looked familiar. With the nasal numbing agent in place he had no way to be sure, but she was about the right size—and she was about the right shape too...

"Well?" Sehlra snapped impatiently. Daniel looked over and saw the Andorian matron leaning forward and cracking her knuckles. He looked to the other side and saw T'Riss glaring the way a family guard sehlat would glare at a _corla _that had managed to dig its way under the garden wall. Why would T'Riss...? It hit him.

"Natolya?" Daniel sat up in disbelief. "I didn't recognize you without your fancy evening robes."

"Yes. This is Natolya." T'Riss confirmed between her teeth. "Grigor-Tel's chief slave. Mistress of his brothel. The one whose scent I caught last night drifting through the ventilation duct between your quarters and mine."

"_Hah!" _Sehlra lunged for the Orion's throat. The Vulcan on duty and Daniel moved together to block her, giving Natolya just barely enough time to spring backwards. The slave mistress turned to run and learned that despite the Vulcan's smaller size, trying to bowl T'Riss over was not a feasible option. A cry of pain echoed through sickbay.

"Crewman T'Riss." Tyvek commanded firmly. "You will release that woman's arm immediately. That is an order." T'Riss looked ready to explode with frustration but slowly allowed her grip on Natolya's twisted arm to relax. The Orion madam whimperingly eased the injured limb out from behind her back. Tyvek hurried over and began scanning for damage. T'Riss stepped back and watched, breathing deeply. The suddenly overworked Vulcan guards were forced to divide their attention between Sehlra and T'Riss.

"It's a lie," Natolya wept, cradling her sore arm like a baby. "She's making it up to get revenge for what happened on the station. It's all lies."

"Why would Crewman T'Riss desire revenge against you?" T'Pol's virtual presence via the comm screen had been all but forgotten up to this point. "You operated the station brothel, where the other Vulcan captives were held," T'Pol pointed out, "whereas she was kept in Grigor-tel's personal quarters."

"Not at first," T'Riss reported grimly. "When we were first captured, it was Natolya's responsibility to personally supervise our 'breaking in', the euphemism she used for a series of initial rapes to increase our compliance. The number varied according to the strength of will displayed by the prisoner. She used a combination of the Pon Farr microbe, pain conditioning, sleep deprivation, sensory deprivation, starvation, and thirst to break our will to resist. Afterwards, she supervised our skills training in how to pleasure a client."

The hypo in Tyvek's hand shattered. Everyone in the room looked at him but no one dared to say anything. Natolya shrilled desperately, "Remember, I was granted asylum along with the all the other slaves! Your people told me that none of the slaves would be punished for obeying our masters!"

Sehlra looked at T'Riss and nodded thoughtfully. "If the Vulcans granted you asylum, then the Vulcans can keep you. The Orion whores are not going back to _Lerteiran_." A babble of outraged voices rose up in protest, demanding their money back. Sehlra grabbed the nearest Orion by the hair and lifted her off the deck. Her shriek silenced the others.

"Since we have no way of proving which one of you attacked our crewman, you are all found guilty under Andorian law. We are jettisoning you through the airlock, as is our right under the laws and customs of our people. It is just your blind luck that the airlock happens to be connected to another ship right now. If you want to wait until we're underway, THEN leave by the airlock, fine with me."

They all shut up.

#

T'Riss stood stiffly waiting as Sehlra told Daniel, "Come on, it's time to go home." The Andorian looked at her and twisted her antenna inquiringly.

"I request permission to remain for a moment," T'Riss said avoiding Daniel's dull gaze, gritting her teeth against the guilt that assailed her. "I wish to discuss something with Healer Tyvek."

"Fine," Sehlra agreed, "But hurry. There's work to be done and we want to finish up as soon as possible."

Once her shipmates had left and the Orions had been escorted to temporary quarters, T'Riss approached Tyvek. The older man actually looked tired, which she could not recall ever observing before. Commander T'Pol and Doctor Phlox from _Enterprise _were still visible on the view screen.

"What is Agent Senek's condition?" Tyvek inquired.

"He's…" Phlox stopped and jumped slightly. Then he turned his head to give T'Pol a disapproving glance before turning back to the screen. "I have found no evidence of serious damage. However, I am under orders to make a full report to Captain Archer before releasing him. Since the captain has retired for the evening with orders not to be disturbed..."

"In plain language, Healer," Senek's voice came from behind the two, although his face was not visible, "I am undamaged but these dutiful officers have been instructed to keep me here by whatever ruse is necessary. I am in no danger, barring a slow death from terminal boredom."

"Commander T'Lar will not be pleased to hear this," Tyvek said tightly. "Does your captain intend to continue putting such strains on our alliance?"

Phlox winced, but T'Pol straightened. "Concerning the matter of straining the alliance, Healer Tyvek, if you intend to make a report to Commander T'Lar regarding this conversation I have some additional information for you to pass along. It might very well affect her attitude regarding the free exchange of data, as well as trigger a reconsideration of the consequences of 'straining' the alliance."

"What information might that be?" Tyvek asked coldly. T'Riss thought she caught a trace of dislike in his tone. Impossible, of course. Normal Vulcans neither liked or disliked anyone—or at least they weren't supposed to.

"Your recently recovered agent will confirm this," T'Pol informed him. "When the Romulans transported to our bridge, after your agent had finished murdering his two comrades…" Tyvek flinched openly, "…Captain Archer greeted him spontaneously in archaic Vulcan, welcoming him as a member of the Declared Ones." Tyvek and T'Riss froze in place. Phlox merely looked puzzled.

"Evidently this carries some special meaning for you," the Denobulan said. "May I ask what it might be?"

"It relates to an episode in early Vulcan history, Doctor," T'Pol told him. "Something that no one who is not of Vulcan blood would be expected to be familiar with."

"Ah," Phlox nodded in understanding.

"Forgive me, Doctor Phlox," A hand descended on Phlox's shoulder and gently but firmly _moved _him to one side. "T'Pol, are you quite seriously certain of this?" Senek looked grim.

"Yes." She said nothing else.

T'Riss threw her memory back to those old stories. The "Declared Ones" were those who marched beneath the raptor's wings. The ones who refused the ways of peace and logic. The ones who had left. The ones... oh no. A freezing wind blew across her katra.

Senek hesitated. "T'Pol. You were with him… and T'Pau." He stopped. "You three were together when the Kir'Shara was found. Do you believe that he actually carried Surak's katra?"

T'Pol did not answer quickly. The three Vulcans watched her consider her answer, while Phlox merely stood by and observed with a fascinated look on his face.. Finally, "We walked for a time along ancient, long abandoned catacombs. At one point we passed the mummy of a man. It was unremarkable in all respects, and completely unadorned. Captain Archer stopped and faced the mummy. He smiled and told us that it was the body of T'Klaas, a student of Surak, and the first Kolinahr master." She paused. "We continued onward to a door that had been undisturbed for centuries. Captain Archer moved without hesitation to press a series of panels in the proper sequence on the first attempt. The door opened, revealing the Kir'Shara."

T'Riss felt her breath catch. How could he have done that without directions from Surak himself? Evidently the others were holding similar thoughts. Senek asked, "Has he shown other evidence since then of retaining any memories of the meld?"

"On occasion," T'Pol replied. "Usually of short duration."

"This is not surprising," T'Riss spoke without thinking, drawing the attention of her elders to her embarrassment. She reluctantly completed her thought, "I simply meant that no one, of any race, could touch a mind like Surak's and remain unchanged."

"True, child," Tyvek agreed soberly. "Quite true." He looked up at the screen and said, "I will deliver your message, Commander. Tyvek out." The healer turned to look at T'Riss. "Now, what can I do for you, Crewman T'Riss?"

T'Riss squared her shoulders. "I wish to make an inquiry regarding Mr. Johansen's condition."

Tyvek raised an eyebrow. "The Orion pheromones have been purged from his system. Aftereffects will continue for some time, but no long term problems are expected."

T'Riss took a deep breath. "That was not the direction of my question, Healer. I wish to inquire regarding the damage that he suffered during the assault by Raijiin… the assault that I instigated."

"Ah." Tyvek tilted his head in comprehension. "I am not at liberty to divulge private information."

T'Riss persisted. "I merely wish to learn if Mr. Johansen will make a complete recovery, or if he will suffer permanent damage due to my actions."

Tyvek looked at her thoughtfully. "Is there a specific purpose behind this inquiry, Crewman T'Riss?"

T'Riss raised her chin stubbornly. "I owe Mr. Johansen a debt of honor," she explained. "The extent of that debt is dependent on the degree of damage that I have caused." Tyvek gestured understanding and stood thinking for a moment.

"Brain damage is a very delicate matter," he began. "The Human brain does not ordinarily grow new nerve tissue past maturity. It is, however, a remarkably adaptable organ. The new stem cells that Dr. Phlox injected are developing at a satisfactory rate. Meanwhile, the undamaged portion of Daniel Johansen's brain has begun to form new cross linkages between the existing neurons in order to re-route functions around the damaged area. Unfortunately, there will always be residual scar tissue."

"So the damage is permanent?" T'Riss persisted.

Tyvek hesitated. "Technically, yes… but it should not prove to be a noticeable handicap."

"Thank you, Healer." T'Riss turned and walked out, fighting to maintain calm.

#

Sehlra stopped Daniel at the _Sehlat_ side of the airlock. He looked disheartened and miserable. "Go on aboard and get to your bunk," she told him. "I need to talk to someone about the repairs, but I'll be along soon." He nodded tiredly and obeyed.

Sehlra watched Daniel disappear through the airlock with concern. The boy looked terrible. The Vulcan healer had said he would be fine physically, but she suspected that the emotional impact of recent events would take longer to heal. She sighed.

He was young at least. The resilience of youth impressed her more and more with each passing year. She felt responsible for him, though, as if he were one of her own children. Long grown and so independent she hadn't seen them in years, her two sons and two daughters were as far from her as they could manage, all in decidedly non-military professions and convinced that her deficient parenting skills had scarred them for life, just as her late husband had been. Daniel, who was easily young enough to be her grandson, still retained a childlike ability to forgive and forget that her own offspring had seemingly lacked from birth. He was, in truth, the only person in existence who still respected her in a parental role, and she couldn't help but feel that she'd lately been lax in her responsibilities. Daniel probably wouldn't appreciate it as much as he should, but she intended to be more watchful of his well-being from now on, no matter how much Jenrali groused at her about "giving the boy some freedom".

Thoughts of boys and freedom reminded her then, with some discomfort, that she had yet to determine whether Damin was safe on _Enterprise_. Although her interest in him was far from parental, his apparent vulnerability stirred her protective instincts. She knew that he was playing on her weaknesses. He had to be more capable of taking care of himself than he appeared to be or he never would have survived being a slave in Orion Syndicate space, so his helplessness had to at least partially be an act for her benefit. It didn't seem to matter. When he'd been so frightened during the Nausican attack on _Lerteiran_ she'd had to continually fight the urge to take him into her arms and comfort him. If he were ever threatened by anyone in her presence, she was certain that she would instinctively fight to protect him, even to the point of putting herself in mortal danger. The confusing blend of protectiveness and physical desire that he evoked in her was unlike anything she'd ever experienced. It made her feel uncomfortably like a pedophile. Damin couldn't possibly be much older than Daniel.

Sehlra tried to talk herself into going back to _Lerteiran_ and just calling Commander Tucker on the comm to get the information she needed, but her need to make certain that Damin was safe _in person_ was too strong to resist, especially with such an excellent excuse. It _was_ much easier to discuss a piece of equipment with both the equipment and the inventor of said equipment directly in front of her, after all.

Once convinced of the practical need for a trip to _Enterprise_, Sehlra suddenly realized that she was too exhausted to brave the trip the conventional way. She contemplated her options morosely for several seconds before deciding that risking a few scrambled molecules was preferable to the wait. She turned to the Vulcan guards on duty at the airlock. "Can I use your transporter for a quick visit to _Enterprise _?" she asked with a self-deprecating grimace. "I want to confirm some specifications on those Human built injectors that we're using, and I just don't feel up to a long shuttle ride." After a twitch of one brow, presumably in reaction to the unprecedented event of an Andorian admitting weakness to a Vulcan, one of the guards pointed down the corridor.

"Go this way fifteen meters to the lift, go to Deck Seven, turn left twenty meters and you will reach the transporter room," he said evenly. Then he keyed the intercom.

"Airlock Five to transporter room."

"_Transporter Room here."_ The voice sounded familiar.

"Prepare for one to beam to _Enterprise_."

"_Acknowledged."_ Sehlra smiled. It was one of her boys in the transporter room. She thought it was Samel. Sehlra nodded her thanks to the guard and strode down the corridor with renewed energy. She encountered no one before arriving at the surprisingly empty transporter room. Samel's familiar face topped the console as he stood up. He didn't smile when he saw her, of course, but he seemed pleasantly surprised.

"Welcome aboard, Master Sergeant," he told her. Sehlra rolled her eyes. She'd suspected she'd regret telling the boys tales of her time in the guard while they worked. She was sure of it now.

"I've told you to just call me Sehlra, Centurion. I haven't been in the guard for years," she retorted.

"If I must call you by your first name, you should logically call me by mine," he replied ingenuously. She smiled at him good-naturedly.

"All right… _Samel_," she said. She craned her neck around the console where he'd been working when she came in. "Is it safe? Are you repairing something?"

"Oh, yes. It's perfectly safe, Mas… Sehlra," he managed. "I'm simply doing regular maintenance. I'll beam you to _Enterprise_ immediately."

Sehlra shook her head disapprovingly. "Your commanding officer certainly didn't waste any time getting you back to work. We just finished the repairs on _Lerteiran_, and just left those prisoners with the security officers in sickbay less than an hour ago."

"My shift ends in a quarter hour. Then I am assigned to tutor the commander's brother in warp theory for one hour. After that I am off duty for ten hours before returning to work. My commander is very generous. I have ample time for rest and meditation," Samel returned seriously. Sehlra smiled at his sincerity. Loyalty was a valuable thing in a subordinate. She envied the boy's commander.

"I'm glad to hear it," she told him, mounting the transporter pad. She made eye contact as he stepped to the console. "You take care of yourself if I don't see you on my way back, son," she said warmly. He nodded, with just a hint of upswept lips.

"I will, Master Sergeant," he told her. "Live long and prosper." Before she could respond she'd materialized on _Enterprise_.

#

Damin woke with a start. Sehlra was aboard _Enterprise_, and she was worried. Since they weren't under attack and he could tell by the lack of stress in the engineering department that repairs were done, he didn't consider it arrogance to conclude that she was worried about his safety. He smiled. Then he realized that all he had was a chunk of unsweetened chocolate wrapped in paper to express his admiration, a presentation that left a lot to be desired.

As his sense of Sehlra's presence grew stronger, Damin pulled the multicolored silk sash from about his waist, placed the paper-wrapped parcel in the center of the large rectangle of smooth material and proceeded to fold and tie. When he was done, he had a neatly wrapped package, complete with bow, sitting on the bed beside him. Sehlra was in the engine room, probably consulting with Commander Tucker, so Damin decided to take advantage of the moment to become more presentable. He made use of the small head, washed his hands, ran moistened fingers through his shoulder length curls to comb them, washed his face, and rinsed his mouth. There was nothing he could do about the day old growth of beard on his face, but he took comfort in the fact that the stubble would only make him appear older—a good thing in his current situation. He gazed at himself in the mirror, and was dissatisfied by what he saw.

_Andorians value martial skill and independence, and I look like a pampered pet. I can't even reveal my true capabilities to woo her without breaking cover,_ he thought in disgust. Although he'd long accepted that his nature lent itself more to being protected and to serving others than the reverse, his usual modus operandi with powerful women was a farce—the submissive part of his true personality greatly exaggerated for effect. He wanted Sehlra to respect him, not pity him. He wanted her to know him—the _real_ Damin, not the prissy face he was forced by circumstance to present to the universe. The desire was impractical and very dangerous.

He could sense her approach. To his disappointment, Commander Tucker was with her. The doors opened to the central foyer.

"I'll wait out here," Commander Tucker was saying. He was radiating smug amusement. Damin sighed. He imagined that Tucker had been teasing Sehlra about her worries. That was the last thing Sehlra needed to be dealing with right now. The outer doors closed. Sehlra stood awkwardly in the central chamber. He could feel her embarrassment and self-doubt along with her worry, and as he walked to the clear door of the cell he began to pick up surface thoughts along with the emotions.

_She despises the fact that she is attracted to me,_ he realized with dismay. _She's decided it's perverted because of our age difference._

"I…ah… came by to see if you need anything," Sehlra told him gruffly. "I'm told it should be safe for you to leave here once we're back to the station, and the Vulcans have agreed to sell us a portable sensor baffle once one is available, but for the time being it looks as if you're stuck in here."

Damin smiled at her, all the while wracking his brain for a way to set the record straight. "I wouldn't mind a change of clothes and few other personal items," he told her pleasantly. He opened the unlocked door and motioned for her to enter the cell. "If you'll come in and have a seat, I can make you a list." Her eyes darted over his face and body, and her fleeting admiration of his beauty was followed by guilt so powerful it made him queasy. He gave her a concerned look as she entered the room hesitantly and sat gingerly on the only piece of furniture in the room—his neatly made bed.

"You're really having a difficult time with this, aren't you? How old do you think I am?" he asked curiously. She was trying so hard _not_ to think of his age that he was unable to pick it up.

Sehlra grimaced. He could tell she didn't want to discuss it. "Maybe twenty-five?" she replied hopefully. Damin chuckled, shaking his head. He sat down on the bed and took her hand. She tried to pull away, but he wouldn't allow it. Her eyes widened when she discovered how much stronger he was than she'd expected. He toyed gently with her calloused fingers, examining them one at a time as he began to speak.

"When I was last on Betazed over twenty years ago…" Her surprise over his statement shot through him. "…my paternal grandmother was still in firm control of the family business at the age of ninety-seven." He looked up. Her expression was startled. "My people are long-lived and age very slowly," Damin explained gently, "…and I have always looked very young for my age, anyway." He paused for emphasis, assuring himself of her attention. "I will be _forty-one_ years old on my next birthday." He smiled reassuringly at her disbelieving expression. "Not only that, but in the same year that my father was born, my grandfather celebrated his twentieth birthday and my grandmother celebrated her forty-fifth…so you see, the age difference between us is perfectly normal on my home world. You have nothing to feel guilty about." Then he brought her hand to his lips and brushed her knuckles gently over his mouth. Her fingers tightened spasmodically over his hand and she looked away, distressed.

"We are not on your home world, Damin," she told him awkwardly. "Among my people, a woman with grown children doesn't develop…feelings…for a boy who looks young enough to be her grandson."

"But I'm _not_ young enough…" Damin began.

"Son, then, all right? You're young enough to be my son," interrupted Sehlra emphatically.

"And whose business is that but ours?" Damin challenged her.

Sehlra just sat staring at him. Her self-loathing stung him. The last thing he wanted to do was to cause her pain. His eyes fell on the package behind her on the bed. He reached past her for it, and she flinched away from him. He sat up again, sighing, and smiled sadly, extending the chocolate to her.

"I was going to use this to try to seduce you," Damin admitted honestly, "But it's obvious that you're not interested." He shrugged. "You might as well take it anyway. Daniel said you'd like it, and he's right. After all the work you've done for all of us you deserve to relax a little." He continued to hold out the silk wrapped package until Sehlra took it, avoiding his eyes. Her fingers brushed his, and the flash of desire and grief he got with direct contact brought sudden tears. He turned away to recover his equilibrium, clearing his throat and reaching in his pants pocket for the ancient padd he'd brought from _Lerteiran_, hastily composing a list while she unwrapped her gift.

"Thank you," Sehlra whispered thickly, holding the chunk of chocolate in her palm and staring at it as if it were a mystery of the universe.

"It's my pleasure," Damin replied softly, then just sat beside her, waiting. She made no move to get up, so after a few minutes he took the brown lump from her, rewrapped it securely, put it back in her hand and placed the padd in her other hand. She looked across the bed at him, obviously conflicted.

"My list is on the padd," he prompted helpfully. Sehlra blinked, and seemed to regain some semblance of normal function. She stood with effort, looking tired, and began to move toward the door.

"I'll ask someone on the _Sehlat_ to beam your supplies in an hour or so," she said. Her regret burned from across the room. She turned to go, and Damin couldn't stand it. He rose and took the three steps to her side with an aggressiveness that startled both of them, placed one hand on Sehlra's shoulder and stared into her ice blue eyes, precisely level with his, wide and searching. Sensing no resistance, he reached out and pulled the top of her head toward him. She bent it forward eagerly, ready for the contact. Damin rested his lips on the top of her head, allowing her antennae to brush his cheeks in the best imitation of an Andorian _tlasp_ a being without antennae could manage. Abruptly, every sensation and emotion he felt from Sehlra doubled in intensity and her thoughts became crystal clear. In that moment, he could sense her need for physical affection overcoming her reluctance. Her desire for him and his for her blended into an indistinguishable whole that threatened to consume them both.

Damin wasn't certain whether the gasp that sounded in the otherwise silent room came from him or from her, but he suddenly discovered that his hands had left Sehlra's head and were roaming her body, pulling her compact, work-hardened frame, strong and yet somehow also soft against him in just the right places, solidly against him. He distantly felt her reaction to the body contact, and her hands, filled with padd and chocolate, first resting against his chest and then futilely attempting to push him away as her desire reverted to panic. He immediately released her, panting and staring. She stared back at him, breathing just as hard, then turned and fled. Damin began cursing himself just as soon as the door shut behind her.

#

T'Riss exited her quarters, more settled in mind following a short period of meditation, and made her way toward the galley for a meal before retiring. She was only a step short of her destination when the voices of Captain Jenrali and Engineer Sehlra echoed around the curve of the hull to reach her ears. From the sound, they were standing just outside Daniel's quarters, having evidently just finished tucking him in.

She winced and started to reached for the door handle, intending to quietly slip inside the galley, when the sound of her own name froze her in place. Eavesdropping might be morally reprehensible, but recent events had begun to persuade T'Riss that pragmatic adjustments to principle were occasionally the most logical option.

"T'Riss did well today," Jenrali sounded tired, not surprisingly.

"Yes," Sehlra answered in a subdued voice. She was silent for a moment. "I've been thinking about what you said. You're right. He's never going to find a Human girl out here, and it's high time he married and started a family. At least she isn't likely to rob him or stick a knife in him while he sleeps." T'Riss dropped her hand from the door handle and began to strain her ears in earnest when she realized what the two of them were talking about. "Getting the two of them to agree to it will be the challenge," continued Sehlra briskly. "I've seen Daniel sneaking looks at T'Riss already, but he's too shy to approach her….and there is no way a Vulcan girl is going to make the first move, even if she gets interested. We're going to have to do something."

Jenrali chuckled. "What would you suggest we do? Lock them in a room together until they breed?"

"Let me talk to her," Sehlra told him. "She and I have started to come to an understanding. She's far from stupid, Jenrali, and there's still something wrong with her, I can see that much. She's going to have problems finding a husband on Vulcan."

The sound of a grunt came clearly to T'Riss. "What do you mean, something wrong with her?" Her already sensitive hearing was tuned to maximum. Illogical though it might be, Jenrali actually sounded concerned.

"When we found Natolya in the cargo bay, T'Riss almost went blood mad. You've seen Vulcans break under interrogation? She was like that. Feral. I almost had to pry her fingers off the green bitch's throat."

"Hmm." Jenrali went silent for a moment. "I suppose you're right about the girl being better off with a Human. The Denobulan is sure that Vulcans and Humans are compatible? Tyvek said he knows his stuff."

"You heard those rumors about the Human xenophobes that cloned a hybrid baby for a propaganda war?" returned Sehlra. "Turns out they were true. He told me he saw the baby himself. Half Vulcan, half Human. According to the Denobulan the only reason the baby died is because Humans haven't kept up with the latest genetic science. You know they outlawed genetic research after their last war, when some of their people tried to create a super breed to conquer the planet."

"I had heard that," Jenrali replied. "Why did that make the baby die?" T'Riss felt a distressing pang at the thought of such a child, used in such a fashion.

Sehlra growled. "Phlox said the Human technicians knew enough to clone her, but not enough to do the job properly. According to him there's no reason a Human and a Vulcan couldn't have children, but they would need a qualified geneticist to do it, not some Human hack."

"He should know." The sound of a sigh came clearly. "Denobulans are the best gene splicers there are."

"All right then, you go on to bed," Sehlra ordered. "I'll take early watch. When T'Riss comes on to relieve me I'll talk to her." A pause. "Go on, old man. Get some rest. Let the women handle this, as the Mother intended."

Jenrali sounded amused. "Just as you say, Milady. Good night."

T'Riss moved quickly, opening the galley door and slipping inside before the source of the shuffling footsteps could appear around the curve of the corridor. This was going to require some deep meditation.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7a

**The Lerteiran Chronicles**

**Episode Seven: Probability Analysis**

**By Blacknblue and Distracted**

**Genre: Action Adventure and romance**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Disclaimer: We don't own the Star Trek universe. We just go there to play. Honest. We do, however, own our original characters and story ideas. You are welcome to borrow them, as long as no money changes hands. If we can't make anything from this, nobody else gets to either. **

**Summary:****A desperate Romulan commander takes hostages, forcing the crews of Enterprise, Sehlat, and Lertieran to work together to come up with a plan to keep her from killing an entire ship full of innocent civilians. Meanwhile, back on Enterprise, Archer remembers something interesting and Trip and T'Pol still have a lot of work to do.**

**#########################**

The bridge was dark. Nocturnal lighting panels spread a soft crimson aura, soothing nerves that had been stretched to the snapping point this day. The night shift was on watch and casting nervous glances at the command seat. They were accustomed to being left to their own devices during the dark hours, which was precisely why Sienae had decided to spend some time on the bridge tonight. So far though, she had found nothing to criticize. The night crew kept their mouths shut and their heads down. She snorted. Spineless cowards.

Sienae brooded. Damin was almost certainly still aboard the Human ship. They had monitored the area ceaselessly since confirming his presence aboard the Andorian freighter. Basing her conclusions on both the transporter activations they had observed and on shuttlecraft movements, it was likely that her son remained aboard the Human warship under some kind of sensor cloak. Theoretically, the Vulcans might have smuggled him off somehow, but the odds did not favor it.

She felt confident that Aehallh could defeat the Humans in battle if it were a fair fight, but they would surely scream to their Vulcan protectors for help, and two D'Kyr class battle cruisers were more than she was prepared to take on. Meanwhile her traitorous XO was no doubt spilling everything he knew into eager ears. If nothing else, an honorable death in battle would be infinitely preferable to the fate that awaited her if she went home without Damin, and without hiding the damage Llahir had caused. She had to either destroy him and all trace of what he had done or obliterate the Vulcans and their Human serfs, and she had to do it fast. The Andorians too, of course; there was no telling what had already been passed on to them by the Humans. She needed something, anything, to penetrate the Vulcan defenses.

"Commander, a Tellarite freighter is outbound from the Orion station. Its course will bring it within 250,000 stai of our position. Bearing 271.3x by 118y by 23z, warp 2.1 delta 1.06." The young helm officer spoke crisply and carefully, pronouncing each syllable as if he expected to be shot for a single dropped consonant.

Sienae snorted and flipped her wrist. "Standard scans," she said, before returning to her brooding.

The helm officer routed telemetry to ops, who dutifully began scanning the passing ship. A grunt of surprise escaped the young woman and caught Sienae's peripheral attention. She glanced up to see the girl hunched over her console looking intense. Mildly intrigued, she demanded, "Well? What is it?"

"Anomalous readings on the freighter, Commander," the young officer-in-training told her. "It appears that their weapon systems are offline, and I am getting far more life sign readings than would be normal for a ship of that type, but I can't get any real detail at this range."

"Helm, take us closer," Sienae ordered, standing and strolling over to glance at the readout herself. Interesting. Her years in space had taught her that unexpected events were usually either a trap or an opportunity. She had nothing to lose, so the prospect of a potential trap did not concern her overmuch. Perhaps this was an opportunity.

The raptor glided toward her prey on silent wings, unseen and unheard. Sienae glared down at the young officer, who was ignoring her commander, focused on the readout in front of her. Sienae pushed her irritation aside and told herself that there would be time to teach the girl proper respect later.

"Confirm initial scans," the girl reported. "The freighter is unarmed. Shields, but no weapons of any kind. From the empty mounting points it appears as if the original disruptors have been removed."

"Battle damage?" Sienae demanded. She leaned closer, shoving the junior officer aside in her eagerness to see the readout.

"No, Commander," the youngster told her. "No sign of damage. The guns are simply missing, as are most of the onboard weapons. I am reading only two small weapon signatures, both in the control room. There are only two life signs in the control room, and both of them are Vulcan."

Sienae straightened up and glared narrowly down at the suddenly tense girl. "Why didn't you say that to start with?" Her voice was soft and dangerous.

"I could not identify species until now, Commander" she responded hurriedly. The young girl finally displayed overt signs of her nervousness in her shaking fingers as she rotated the display panel toward Sienae. Her fingers flew across the controls. "Now that we're close enough for detailed scans, you can see that the cargo holds are full of people, not cargo. All of the Tellarite crew members are restricted to the lower levels," she pointed at the screen with her stylus. "Only the two Vulcans are on the bridge, and only the Vulcans are carrying sidearms."

"And the ones in the cargo holds?" Sienae's lip curled at the sight of the girl's obvious fear.

"A mixture of races, Commander. Some Tellarite, Andorian, Betazed, two Rigellians, several different breeds." She added as an afterthought, "No Humans."

Sienae snorted, "Of course not, fool." The girl cringed, pleasing her commander immensely. "Lock transporters on those Vulcans. Drop them into the brig behind force fields at full power. Make sure that a weapon dampening field is in effect. Then transmit a schematic of that ship to the marines and organize two standard boarding parties, one to secure the craft and one to supervise prisoner transport." She thought for a second and barked in amusement. "Since they like traveling in cargo holds, I see no reason to force them into any uncomfortable re-adjustment, especially since they will not be with us long. Once the Marines have cleared each prisoner for transport, have them dropped into cargo bay one."

Sienae turned before the acknowledgment of her order had finished vibrating in the air and walked back to her seat. Then she activated the comm and spoke. "Centurion Maklan."

_"I am here, Commander." _

"We have prey for you to hunt," she told him with relish. "A small Tellarite freighter, filled with prisoners."

_"That is pleasant news, Commander." _Sienae noted the hunger in his voice, kin to her own. _"It has been a time, and again a time, since my fighters have seen blood. They are out of practice." _

"I wish I could grant you a better challenge," Sienae told him with a trace of real regret. "But at least this should be a pleasant distraction for your people. Perhaps it will help take their minds off their boredom."

_"You are indeed generous, Milady,"_ the marine told her gratefully. _"Such considerations go far to seal the loyalty of a warrior." _

"We all serve together, Centurion Maklan," Sienae replied. "Transport the prisoners to cargo bay one. Separate the attractive and compliant ones and allow any members of the crew who are interested to make use of them. Meanwhile, I will require your service in the brig during interrogation. A schematic of the ship is on its way to you."

_"It shall be as you command, Milady. Life to the Imperium!" _

"Life... to the Imperium," she said, raising an ironic brow, and switched off the comm.

#

Sehlra sat in the silence of the bridge. Her shift was nearly over and she had yet to achieve the peace of mind that solitary duty usually gave her. The view screen before her showed only the star field now that Lerteiran was repaired, detached from Sehlat, and traveling under her own power again. If she didn't look at the sensors, which showed the bulks of the two huge ships that flanked the small Andorian vessel, she could almost pretend that they were finally free, away from all this mess of Starfleet, Orions, telepaths, and Vulcans. The peacefulness was deceptive, though. T'Riss would come on duty soon, so she had that conversation yet to get through, and even the prospect of playing matchmaker to a Vulcan wasn't as unsettling as the ruminations spinning around her head about her situation with Damin.

_It should be a simple matter,_ she mused. _He's too young for any sort of decent relationship. I should either pay his fee and enjoy myself thoroughly for the price, or pat the boy on the head, thank him for the chocolate, and let him get on with his chosen career. _

But if he was telling the truth, he was no boy, and in defiance of all good sense she wanted more than casual sex with him. She closed her eyes, sighing. It was impossible, despite all his charms, despite the improbable trick he'd managed—imitating an Andorian tlasp. Her pulse accelerated at the thought.

The tlasp was irreplaceable, a sharing unlike anything else in her experience. She'd sorely missed it since the death of her husband. It had, at the end, been the only thing keeping their relationship alive. Male Andorians were scarce this far from Andorian space, and the few she'd met since shipping out had expressed little interest in a woman her age. Once, after a long night's drinking, she'd been desperate enough to offer herself to a craggy old Andorian spacer with teeth missing. Her humiliation over his indignant refusal still came back at times after sufficient ale, and fortunately had prevented her from making the same mistake again.

Sehlra had tried to make do since then at their various ports of call, but even paying top money for youth and enthusiasm couldn't make up for the superficiality. There had been times since she'd joined the crew of Lerteiran that she'd even considered approaching Jenrali for want of a better alternative, despite the fact that her feelings for him were closer to those of a sister than a lover. A lover's tlasp was exclusive to Andorians, or so she'd always believed, but somehow Damin had managed to duplicate the effect exactly—tenfold. The prospect of even one repeat performance was more seductive than his beauty could ever be. Having a permanent claim to such a partner wasn't something she'd ever dared to imagine, and yet here she was—imagining it.

A soft chime signaled the change of watch. Sehlra's antenna straightened expectantly and, sure enough, the sound of precise footsteps rang on the access ladder as T'Riss climbed into the control room. There was a three minute grace period between sounding watch change and the requirement to be at station, but T'Riss had never needed it since reporting for duty aboard Lerteiran.

The Vulcan girl looked subdued. Sehlra wondered if she had gotten enough sleep.

"Crewman T'Riss reporting for duty."

Sehlra nodded approvingly at the military stance T'Riss assumed. The more Sehlra thought about it, the more she realized that Daniel could do worse. It wasn't the girl's fault she was Vulcan. Honestly, Daniel's people and Vulcans had been working together for generations anyway. They even looked like each other. It could work.

"Take communications," Sehlra ordered. "Not expecting any calls, but you never know."

"Yes, ma'am." T'Riss obediently seated herself at the console where Daniel usually sat and started familiarizing herself with the controls. Sehlra turned back to the pilot's board and made herself look busy with the end of shift checklist. For a few minutes no one said anything. Sehlra stole frequent glances in the pilot's mirrors, placed to give tactical views of the co-pilot and communication/fire control consoles. T'Riss never raised her head. Her shoulders slumped. Sehlra felt her eyebrows draw together.

"You all right, girl?"

T'Riss started and looked up. "I am undama…" She paused mid-word, gave Selhra an odd look, and took another breath. "I am uninjured," she finished, as if clarifying her statement. "Why do you ask?"

Sehlra flicked a switch to set the pilot controls to auto-alarm. Then she swiveled in her seat and looked directly at T'Riss. "Because you look like something is bothering you. Want to talk about it?"

T'Riss closed her eyes briefly. When she opened them again there was a look of grim determination on her face. "I overheard your conversation with Captain Jenrali in the corridor a few hours ago." Sehlra's lips tightened. "I did not intend to eavesdrop," T'Riss explained. "I was on my way to the galley when your voices echoed down the corridor."

"Never underestimate Vulcan hearing," Sehlra's mouth twisted. "All right, you heard us. What's your opinion of the matter?"

"I am…" She stopped uncertainly. "I have been meditating on the subject, but I have not been able to come to a clear conclusion."

"Something wrong with Daniel?" Sehlra demanded truculently. "He's a fine young man. Good enough for anyone. If my daughters weren't already married, I would gladly bind them to him."

"Mr. Johansen is an admirable man," T'Riss told her, struggling to maintain her dignity. "Certainly there is nothing objectionable about him."

"Then what is the problem?" Sehlra persisted. "Because he's not a Vulcan? Because he's Human?"

T'Riss put on a look of pain. "I- I am in no position to..." She bit off her words and looked down. "During my training on the Orion station I was required to service customers of every race. Many each day." She shuddered. "I am in no position to refuse an offer of honorable marriage from a member of any compatible race." She paused and made a face. "Although some members of my family would disagree. Vehemently."

Sehlra was at a loss for words. She was about to blunder forward regardless when T'Riss started talking again. "You and Captain Jenrali were correct. I have been damaged." She took a deep breath and looked Sehlra in the eye.

"Healer Tyvek informs me that extensive counseling is often required in cases involving the death of one's betrothed. Unfortunately, the Orions did not see fit to offer me such service," she said in a dry tone. "More significantly for a Vulcan, rape is both physically and mentally catastrophic. Healer Tyvek has been researching the matter, but he has not been able to discover a situation equivalent to the one we endured on the station, with multiple assaults over an extended period. He expects the consequences to be, in his words, 'profound'." T'Riss swallowed. "In addition, the death of a bonded mate is a life changing experience that leaves permanent scars on the Vulcan katra. I cannot explain the details. Your language doesn't contain the necessary terms. But the cumulative effect of these experiences has left me seriously impaired. I have grave doubts that I would be capable of functioning as an adequate mate for anyone."

Sehlra fingered her lower lip, studying the girl. Despite the hopelessness of her words, T'Riss had told her story with only the trace of a quiver in her voice, dry eyed. "'Mate' meaning the Vulcan definition, I assume…with the bond you people are so secretive about?" Sehlra clarified.

"Of course," T'Riss replied.

Sehlra nodded, crossed her arms, and settled back in her chair. "Then don't worry about bonding. It's perfectly understandable that trauma like this would impair your ability to bond with another Vulcan, but Humans don't bond with their mates. Daniel would have no expectations in that regard," she said.

T'Riss blinked. "Are you suggesting that I deceive him?" she asked.

Sehlra snorted. "Of course not, girl. Tell him the truth. Lying never works," she said. "I just think that if you allowed yourself to get to know him better, the two of you would find more in common than you think, and you'll at least become friends. In my experience, long lasting relationships have been based on much less."

"Vulcans do not have friends. They have useful acquaintances," T'Riss replied flatly, as if to end the conversation. She focused her attention on the comm board in front of her, but there was nothing for her to do, and so she was left sitting with her hands in her lap. Sehlra exhaled. The girl was being deliberately obtuse.

"All right then… consider the 'usefulness' of an 'acquaintance' who not only has some sense of what you've experienced but also has a good chance of being tolerant of what a Vulcan male might call 'defects' in your emotional control," Sehlra told her matter-of-factly. "I'm assuming you eventually wish to have offspring. That's hard to do without a male. I can't speak for Daniel, but I've seen him look at you. Treat him properly, and it's likely he'll agree to help when the time comes."

T'Riss colored a bright olive at that statement. She refused to meet Sehlra's eyes, but the engineer could see that the girl was thinking. She turned back to her console and left T'Riss to it. After several minutes of silence, the Vulcan finally spoke.

"I have no experience with such things," she confessed in a quiet voice. Sehlra turned to the young woman. The Vulcan's eyes were wide and honest. Sehlra saw fear in them. She smiled in reassurance.

"The Mother knows I've got enough for both of us, girl," she said. "When we're done, you'll be irresistible to him, never fear."

#

Jonathan Archer's eyes snapped open. So that was what it meant.

After meditation last night he had talked himself into postponing a shower. In fact, he had barely managed to make it to his bunk and kick off his slippers before pitching headfirst into oblivion, but true to form, his subconscious mind had been busy all night chewing away on the problem at hand, just like Porthos on his leather bone.

"The Declared Ones," he remembered. "Declared followers of S'Task, Surak's first and most beloved pupil. S'Task, who betrayed and abandoned him. S'Task, who led a band of rebellious malcontents into space rather than join the rest of the planet in turning toward a life devoted to peace and logic. S'Task, leader of the Rihansuu."

Jonathan slowly swung his legs over the side of the bunk and rubbed his eyes. He needed a hot shower and some coffee before he could deal with the ramifications. The wall chronometer told him that it was still three hours until the end of gamma shift. He keyed the comm.

"Archer to the galley."

A young and puzzled voice answered, probably the steward in charge of gamma shift's meals. _"Crewman Prudhomme here. May I help you, Captain?"_

"I need coffee, Crewman… preferably a lethally strong brew," Archer told him. The steward chuckled.

"_I've got some Mello Joy dark roast put aside, Captain. They say if you brew it strong enough your spoon'll stand right up in it,"_ replied Prudhomme jokingly in a thick Cajun accent.

"Sounds like just what I need, thanks," Archer replied. Then he dragged himself up and headed for the shower, praying for clarity.

By the time he emerged from the shower Crewman Prudhomme was buzzing for admittance with a particularly potent version of what Trip always referred to as "that foul brew". He thanked the young man gratefully and pointed at his desk. The steward was quick and efficient. As the door closed behind him, Jonathan dropped heavily into his chair and poured the first cup. Then he poured it down his throat like it was medicine, which it was. The black fluid hit his stomach like a water balloon full of sulfuric acid and ignited. A strong shudder shook Jonathan's entire frame, but he could feel life tingling back into his extremities. He nursed the second cup and starting going over the previous day's worth of memory.

Jonathan shook his head when he recalled Hoshi's evasive answer before his call to Sehlat. She had traded looks with T'Pol, too. He sighed. He wasn't looking forward to this, but now was the best possible time to deal with it. Hoshi was never at her best when she was sleepy. He reached over and hit the button.

"Captain Archer to Lieutenant Sato. Urgent. Lieutenant Sato, respond." There was no reply. He waited another moment before calling the bridge. "Ensign Caramali, page Lieutenant Sato in her quarters. If necessary, use the tactical alert signal. Get a response and have her contact me in my quarters now."

_"Aye, sir?"_ The surprised young voice on the other end responded swiftly.

He was halfway through his second cup when the comm lit up. _"L-Lieutenant Sato here, sir. What do you need, sir?" _

"Your presence, Lieutenant," Archer told her. "In my quarters, five minutes ago. Don't bother to dress. Just throw on a robe. If you have slippers handy, fine. If not, come barefooted. Get here now." He keyed the comm off and propped his chin on one hand thoughtfully. How to handle this? Should he be angry or terribly disappointed? Perhaps he should be a little angry, but really more hurt than anything else. Which approach would be more effective?

The door buzzer sounded. Archer ignored it, still thinking. Knowing Hoshi, she probably wouldn't keep such important information from him without good reason. It just wasn't in her nature to hide things. Communication was what she was all about, after all. Most likely it was T'Pol who had convinced her to keep quiet.

The door buzzer sounded again. He didn't move.

So if T'Pol had asked, or ordered her, to keep her mouth shut about it, then Hoshi really wasn't in line for anything harsh. She was a junior officer after all, and less than half T'Pol's age.

All right, then. Leniency's the name of the game. The door buzzed a third time.

"Come in." The portal opened to reveal a remarkably subdued looking Lieutenant Sato in a silk bathrobe and a pair of flowered pajamas. Archer kept his face expressionless. "Come in, Lieutenant. We need to talk." The level of dread on Hoshi's face notched upward.

"Yes, sir?" she squeaked. "What about, Captain?" Archer leaned back and crossed his legs at the ankle. He took another sip of coffee and looked at her for a moment.

"Hoshi," he began. "We've all been to hell and back together. Everyone on this ship is like family. There isn't anyone on this ship who wouldn't die for any of the others without hesitation. I know that, and so do you. Right?"

She nodded and seemed to relax a trifle. "Yes, sir. Of course."

Archer nodded too. "So I understand why, when T'Pol asked you to lie to me about the connection between the Romulans and the Declared Ones, you agreed to do it. It was like a sister asking you for something. Right?" Hoshi stiffened and a look of panic came into her eyes.

"I... I... I..." Her gaze shot all over the room, as if she was looking for an escape route.

"But you have to understand, Hoshi," he went on in a more gentle voice. "I'm responsible for everyone on this ship…not just T'Pol, and not just you. And when you keep things from me it has the potential to affect everyone. Earth needs to know everything it can about the Romulans, Hoshi. They have already attacked ships in this part of space several times. If they really are planning to expand their empire in this direction, every bit of information we can get might save Human lives. You understand that, don't you?"

Hoshi looked like she was going to cry. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, sir. I didn't think of it that way, sir. She - I mean we thought it might hurt the alliance between Earth and Vulcan if it got out."

"It might," Archer admitted. "But that's not your decision to make, Lieutenant. That's not even my decision to make. That's the kind of decision that gets made at the top levels of government. That's why we have a government. That's what they get paid for, to make those kinds of decisions. We're Starfleet officers. It's not our job to set policy, or to make decisions that will alter the course of billions of lives. Not on purpose, anyway. We're not out here to play god, Hoshi. Not with other species, and not with our own species either."

"I'm sorry, sir. I'll resign my commission at the start of alpha shift this morning." She could barely hold it together well enough to get the words out.

"Like hell you will." Archer stood up. "You try it and I'll unleash Trip on you!" Hoshi stepped back, looking confused. "You screwed up. Deal with it and learn from it. No officer has ever made it through their career without making their share of screwups. I have. T'Pol has. Trip has. Malcolm has. Everyone has. Just don't hide things from me anymore. Understand?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Good." Archer felt tired. "Now go back to bed. Take the first half of alpha shift off to catch up on some sleep. I know we could all use some sack time after everything that's happened lately."

"Thank you, sir." She paused at the door, looking like a reprieved teenager. "I'm sorry, Captain. Thank you for a second chance. It won't happen again." He smiled and gave a casual gesture with his fingers. She returned the smile and left.

"Oooooow." Jonathan groaned and sank back into his seat. "One down, one to go. And then deal with Senek and T'Lar. Then interview Damin. And the damnable thing is, I asked for this job." He reached for the comm. "Archer to T'Pol." He waited patiently.

_"T'Pol here." _

"Report to my quarters immediately, Commander. If Trip is with you, bring him along. If not, come without him, but get here. Uniform is optional. Speed is not."

_"Understood. Captain... why would you expect Commander Tucker to be…" _

Archer broke in with a snort of impatience. "Just get up here. And be ready to explain why you think it's acceptable to suborn one of my junior officers into presenting false information to her captain." He hit the switch and grabbed his coffee cup in a disgruntled manner. He briefly considered changing out of his bathrobe and pajama bottoms. Then he shrugged. She had seen him in his underwear. Pajama bottoms were a step up. Making a fashion statement was the least of his concerns right now.

Precisely three minutes later, he answered the door buzzer with an abrupt, "Come in." T'Pol stepped through wearing her typical insulated red outfit, immaculately groomed as always. Naturally. Archer's irritation peaked. He stood up deliberately and snapped out, "Stand at attention!"

T'Pol's eyebrows shot upward, but she obediently straightened and assumed the required stiffness. Archer walked around the end of his desk and stood in front of her, urgently digging through his mind for the best way to begin. Suddenly a warm feeling rose up from the depths of his subconscious mind and it came to him. He smoothed out his face into a perfectly impassive mask and spoke in archaic High Vulcan.

"T'Pol, daughter of T'Les of Clan S'ii!jh!'khn," he intoned. Archer worked hard to conceal his amusement at the way her eyes widened incredulously. "Is it thy wish to remain in service to Starfleet and to remain aboard this ship?"

T'Pol's mouth closed and she blinked several times. She hesitated, then, "Yes, it is," she replied in the same language.

"Then the time has come," Archer told her somberly, "for thee to make a decision. When I spoke for thee before the admirals of Starfleet, there were many who doubted thee. They said that thy loyalty could not be relied upon. They feared that when the time came, as it inevitably would, thy allegiance to thine own blood would prevail over thine oath to Starfleet. Have their fears been proven true, T'Pol?"

She stared at him uneasily. "Why dost thou ask this of me? What have I done to cause thee to doubt my loyalty?"

Archer grimaced. "Thy pretense of ignorance ill becomes thee, T'Pol, daughter of T'Les. Deception by concealment is still deception. I had thought better of thee and thine honor." He turned his back and walked over to look out the viewport. The starfield was half obscured by the Horn nebula, a great looming cloud that seemed to rise up and give the illusion that it was about to topple over and bury all three ships. Archer waited tensely.

"Everything I have done was as much for the good of Earth as for Vulcan," she finally said in English. Archer turned around and looked at her in silent disbelief. She pressed her lips together and continued, "Based on your remarks, added to what you said when you initially called, I presume you refer to Lieutenant Sato?"

"I refer, T'Pol, daughter of T'Les, to thy deception regarding the Declared Ones." Archer refused to fall back into English. Forcing T'Pol to use High Vulcan not only rubbed her nose in the fact that he had access to Surak's memories, but it also prevented evasion and ambiguity. High Vulcan was a very precise language, with no room for dodging.

She actually sighed, to Archer's open surprise. "I firmly believe that if knowledge of the connection becomes general, it will cause irreparable harm to the alliance between our peoples."

"That may be so, or it may not be so," Archer told her sternly. "But thine oath specified that thou wouldst obey the laws and regulations of Earth and Starfleet, that thou wouldst comply with all lawful orders given by thy superior officers, and that thou wouldst at all times seek to protect and preserve the safety and security of the Human species. Dost thou remember this, the oath that thou swore before me?"

She stood, if possible, even more stiffly. "I do."

"Dost thou truly believe that deceiving thy captain, and conspiring to persuade a subordinate to join thee in hiding critical information concerning a race that may soon become a deadly enemy, is preserving and protecting the safety and security of the Human species?"

T'Pol pressed her lips tightly together and raised her chin. "I truly believe that maintaining the alliance between our peoples is critical to preserving and protecting both of our species. Thus, my oath is intact."

"I disagree," he told her bluntly. "Surak would disagree as well." She winced. "An alliance based on deception is not worth preserving. It may be that Starfleet Command and Earthgov will decide to conserve this information for strategic advantage, but knowledge of one's enemy is of paramount importance in battle. Lack of this information has in fact caused losses during our confrontations with the Romulans thus far. I grieve for the lives lost, lives which might have been saved had we known that we were facing Rihansuu."

T'Pol looked down at the floor and said nothing. After a moment Archer continued, in a softer voice. "I can well understand the conflict…. the loyalty of blood, versus the loyalty of a promise given. None could fault thy honor if thee chose to follow the call of thy blood, but a choice must be made, T'Pol. It must be made today."

She slowly raised her head. "Specify," she told him in a cold voice.

Archer replied in a voice equally cold. "By the end of alpha shift today, I will receive one of two things from thee. Either I will discover that thou art resigning thy commission, or I will receive assurance that never again wilt thou place thy loyalty to any other group above thy loyalty to Starfleet." He paused, gazing at her as his human feelings of hurt over her betrayal came to the fore, and reverted to English. "You may have that long to consider the matter, but I cannot countenance an officer on my ship who holds divided loyalties."

"Understood," she told him woodenly. "May I be dismissed?" He nodded. She executed an about face and strode to the door, passing through with her back ramrod stiff. As soon as the door whispered shut Jonathan sagged and grabbed the edge of his desk. He rubbed his eyes and felt sick.

#

Selim took a sip from his cup and made a face. "I want sweet porridge for breakfast, T'Lar. Plomeek broth is…unappetizing."

His attempt at adult understatement contrasted with the youthful soprano of his voice in a way that T'Lar couldn't help but find amusing, but she didn't dare show it. It was her responsibility now to encourage her youngest brother's attempts at proper Vulcan behavior.

"Plomeek broth is what Vulcans have for breakfast, Selim. Sweet porridge is Orion. We have none aboard," T'Lar replied from her seat across the table in the sitting room of their quarters. She looked up from the padd she was reading, reached for her cup and eyed him with mild disapproval. He was the child of her parents' old age, and they had spoiled him shamelessly.

"We have the porridge…I've checked… just not the sweetener. You could get some," persisted Selim. "We'll be back to the station in just a few hours."

"Plomeek broth provides all the necessary nutrients for a morning meal without unnecessary sucrose, which can result in dental caries and obesity if taken in sufficient quantities," T'Lar said. She took a sip of her own broth and suppressed a grimace. The galley must be running low on salt again. Selim raised a brow at her, and she sighed.

"I will have the quartermaster replenish our seasonings, " she conceded.

"The crew will be pleased," Selim replied in a satisfied tone. Then he spoiled the maturity of his comment by grasping his mug in both hands and tossing back the remainder of his broth in one huge gulp, grimacing quite dramatically at the taste. Setting the cup down, he made use of his shirtsleeve for a napkin and then pushed back from the table. T'Lar watched tolerantly as he grabbed his padd from the table in the entrance hall.

"I've got astrocartography this morning," the boy told her. "I don't want to miss the change of shift briefing." She nodded regally, giving him permission to leave. He paused at the open door and took a deep breath. "Raijiin invited me to visit after lessons today. I'll be back late," he said in a rush. The door shut with a swoosh, leaving T'Lar with her mouth open. He was incorrigible. Selim knew she disapproved of his relationship with the ex-slave, but he also knew that she was much too busy this morning to chase him down and forbid his visit, and he'd satisfied the letter of the law by informing her of his whereabouts. It was times like these when he reminded her most strongly of their three older brothers, all grown now with wives and families. They'd all been prone to wild escapades as children. She, it seemed, as the only female, was destined to be the only properly behaved child produced by her parents. The injustice of it had galled her in her youth. She was, of course, now above such emotions.

The comm sounded. _"Bridge to Commander T'Lar."_ She stood and stepped to the wall to answer.

"T'Lar here."

"_An encrypted emergency message from the Le'Matya, Commander. It's Subcommander Tormak."_

"I'll take it here in my quarters," she responded, and then stepped to her desk to activate the console. The screen came to life, showing the solemn face of the Le'Matya's commanding officer, recently demoted as part of the disciplinary action resulting from his unprovoked attack on the Andorian vessel Lerteiran. The Vulcan High Council was nothing if not complete in its restitutions when interspecies relations were at stake.

"_Commander T'Lar, we've received a distress call from a Vulcan officer aboard one of the commandeered transport vessels, a Tellarite freighter transporting seventy-three evacuees from the mercantile sector of the Orion station," _said Tormak. _"Sehlat is the closest armed Vulcan vessel in the vicinity. My comm officer is transmitting the coordinates to you now."_

"We are escorting a vessel targeted by the Romulans at the present time, Subcommander. Our weapons systems are needed for defense in case of another attack," T'Lar replied. "I suggest you use your personnel and another commandeered vessel to come to the aid of the malfunctioning freighter."

"_That won't be possible, Commander. Le'Matya has orders to remain here, and none of the captured vessels have adequate weaponry for the task. Our contact aboard the freighter is no longer transmitting, but the initial report was of a Romulan attack in progress on the freighter," _replied Tormak.

T'Lar's heart skipped a beat, but she refused to reveal her distress to a subordinate. Evidence of panic in a commanding officer was invariably disruptive. She took a deep breath, raised a brow, and said, "Romulan? Are you certain?"

The comm sounded again. _"Bridge to Commander T'Lar."_ Verlen's voice was urgent. _"We're receiving a voice-only transmission that I believe you should hear immediately."_

T'Lar raised a hand to Tormak, indicating that he should remain on screen, and then rose to answer the comm. "Go ahead, Verlen," she said. Crackles emanated from the speaker, followed by a female voice speaking Vulcan with an archaic accent.

"_Attention D'Kyr cruiser. Attention Earth vessel. As the representative of the Romulan Star Empire in this sector of space, I demand the return of two fugitives wanted for crimes against the Empire. Image files will follow this announcement. If the identified fugitives are not delivered to the source of this transmission within twelve Earth hours, the hostages I have taken will be killed."_ Static followed, presumably the image files in the process of being transmitted, and then the recorded transmission began again before being cut off by the comm officer on the bridge.

"_Any orders, Commander?"_ asked Verlen. T'Lar exchanged a look with Tormak, who was grim-faced on the screen, and then replied.

"Have you found the source?"

"_The transmission appears to originate from the coordinates the Le'Matya just sent us," _replied Verlen.

T'Lar exhaled heavily. Of course. It was just like the Rhiannsu. Why settle for one or two hostages when one could endanger the lives of an entire shuttle full of helpless merchants? She turned to Tormak and acknowledged his request with a nod, but her words were for Verlen.

"Proceed to those coordinates, then, Subcommander Verlen… maximum warp. And contact Captain Archer. I need to speak with him."

#

Trip Tucker entered the captain's ready room with a mug of hot tea in each hand and trepidation in his heart. Since being awakened from a sound sleep at 0430 by a blast of emotion from T'Pol so strong that it was impossible to identify exactly which emotion was involved, he'd gotten complete silence from the Vulcan quarter. It was almost as if the bond had never existed-except for the space in his head where she wasn't.

After T'Pol had responded to his comm call with a not-very-convincing, "I am fine. Please do not concern yourself. Go back to sleep", he'd spent the next three hours trying to figure out what had upset her so much. She hadn't shut him out like this since the baby's death. Once, it would have made him angry. Since their marriage, though, he'd come to realize that there were times when she just had to shut the connection between them down for a while so that she could process her own emotions. He was still learning how to clamp down on his instinctive desire to wade in and fix things when she did it.

Trip sat down, eyeing Hoshi's pale face and Malcolm's clenched jaws with puzzlement as he set the steaming tea mugs on the table. Mal was obviously majorly teed off, and from the concerned way that he kept looking at Hoshi, it was evident that her distress was the cause of his anger. The expression on Mal's face when the captain walked into the room clinched it. Something had happened that had upset Hoshi, and Mal obviously considered it the captain's fault.

"Where's T'Pol?" asked Archer. His omission of her rank title could have been just his usual casual disregard of such things, but it sounded more to Trip as if the captain wasn't happy with her. As Trip opened his mouth to make some excuse for his wife, she entered the room wearing, of all things, a standard Starfleet issue coverall. That surprised him. She hated the things. The fabric was rough, she'd always said, and she became chilled too quickly without proper insulation. Then he noticed the insulated underwear peeking out at her neckline. She sat down at the table without a word, staring the captain down with what looked like a challenge on her face. Trip pushed one tea mug toward her and cautiously pushed at her through the bond as well, trying to radiate concern and curiosity and to block the worst of his frustration over her sudden silence. T'Pol kept her eyes on the captain, but he felt her affection, apology, and reassurance warm him from the inside out as she opened their connection.

_We'll talk later, ashayam. I am sorry to worry you, but I need some time. Please do not be concerned._ Then she shut things down again immediately.

Trip gave a mental sigh of resignation, and then reached under the table to grip her knee, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

Archer cocked one brow as he inspected T'Pol's appearance, but made no remark about her change of uniform. He had no welcoming smile for any of them that morning, and the odor of strong coffee wafting from the mug in his fist filled the small room.

"Now that we're all here, we can get started, " he began, looking across the table with an uncharacteristically bland expression. He nodded at Hoshi. She cleared her throat and turned the table console toward the rest of the room. She brought up an image of the Romulan ship that had appeared for two seconds during their attempted "rescue" of the Romulan defector.

"At 0540 we received a transmission from someone claiming to be the 'official representative of the Romulan Star Empire' demanding the return of two fugitives and threatening to kill an entire ship full of hostages, including innocent children, if we don't comply within twelve hours," said Hoshi in a wan voice. "We think this person is the commander of this Romulan vessel."

She brought up another image. The screen split, showing two males. Trip recognized one as Damin, the boy in the brig. The other one was a Vulcan Trip had never seen before. "These are the fugitives the transmission claims are wanted for treason, murder, and a host of other crimes against the Romulan Empire," she said. She brought up a third image. "And this is the list of hostages." A document in Vulcan script filled the screen. The print wavered at Hoshi's keystrokes and became English. Along one margin was a series of thumbnail photographs, seventy-three of them. At least one third of them were children. All were identified as non-combatant merchants and their families. Virtually every race present on the Orion station at the time of its destruction was represented. Archer continued the presentation after a second of shocked silence.

"The Sehlat is already on her way to a rendezvous site near the origin of the transmission," he said. "We've been asked to escort Lerteiran back to the Orion station so that the Le'Matya can take over as her protector. We'll also be picking up two portable sensor baffles before heading back to rendezvous with Sehlat. Supposedly the devices will allow Damin and the Romulans' other target to move more freely without revealing themselves to the Romulans, but I'll need you to look at them, Trip…Malcolm."

The captain caught Trip's attention with that one. Mal looked interested, too. "It isn't very often that Vulcan freely shares technology with us, no strings attached. I want the two of you to get me a complete analysis of those sensor baffles before we let them get out of our hands. The sensor baffle we have in our brig takes up an entire wall. I can think of more than a few situations we've been in where something more portable would have been a life-saver."

"That's putting it rather mildly, sir," Malcolm said fervently. He looked as if he was holding back from rubbing his hands together by sheer willpower.

Archer turned back to Trip. "I also want you both working on techniques for piercing that Romulan cloak. Start with the premise that it operates on the same or a similar principle to the holographic projectors they used for the unmanned probes we encountered."

"You don't think they're using a cloak like the Suliban?" Hoshi asked tentatively. Trip thought she looked like she was ready to duck at any moment.

"Frankly, I doubt it." The captain seemed to be making a special effort to keep his voice calm and steady. Trip was getting more and more determined to find out what was going on, and sooner rather than later. "If the Romulans had access to Suliban technology I doubt that they would be moving this cautiously, and if the Suliban had Romulan backing, I suspect that they would be making more of a noise for themselves right now." Hoshi nodded thoughtful agreement.

The captain turned his gaze to T'Pol. Her spine straightened to a near military posture.

"T'Pol, I need you to have a conference with Senek. Any information or cooperation you can convince him to give us would be helpful in this situation. Are you comfortable doing that?" The question was peculiar, Trip thought. Why would the captain have to ask?

"Of course, Captain. Consider it done." T'Pol's voice was firm. There was no hesitation. The captain's lips quirked up in the trace of a smile.

#

Daniel was plodding along at a dispirited pace on the treadmill when Jenrali entered Lerteiran's tiny gym. He looked up and tentatively raised a hand, acting like he was afraid that Jenrali was going to walk over and take a swing at him. Not that the thought wasn't mildly tempting, even now. Jenrali turned toward the weight machine and chuckled softly. He set the resistance to 30 kilograms and started doing arm curls. He really had let himself get soft lately. Maintaining the ship at low gravity to save power may have been false economy after all. "Feeling better, lad?" he asked.

"Uh, physically better. Yeah," Daniel answered in a dejected tone of voice. He looked down and kept plodding onward. Jenrali gave him a sharp look.

"Nobody blames you," he said, concentrating on maintaining a steady rhythm between his breathing and his muscles. "You can't be held responsible for your physiology. Phlox said Orion pheromones hit Humans like a case of ale."

"That's what it felt like," Daniel told him morosely. "Like being stone blind drunk. Except I remember it. At least when I wake up hung over I usually don't remember what I fool I made of myself."

"So that's it." The older man let the tension off and turned to face his protégé. "Lad, listen to me. There is no way to get through life without embarrassing yourself. It can't be done. Remember, 'A real miner trusts his antennae.'"

"A real miner trusts his antennae?" Daniel repeated, wrinkling his nose in that way he did when something didn't compute. "What the heck does that mean?"

"It means," Jenrali told him seriously, "That you have to follow your instincts. You have to keep going even when you may have taken the wrong passage. You just have to deal with it and work your way through it, not waste time worrying about it."

Daniel stared at him. "Where do you get these? Every time something happens you come up with a new one to throw at me."

Jenrali grinned. "I keep 'em packed in a satchel, tucked in behind the desk in my quarters, ready for any contingency."

"Must be nice to have the answers already figured out in advance," Daniel sighed. He turned off the treadmill and took two steps across the tiny space to the parallel bars. He hoisted himself up and started hand walking down the length of the bars. When he reached the end he quickly swapped hand positions and started back.

"Not all the answers," Jenrali told him. He took a deep breath and started tip-toeing gingerly into the mine field. "It does look like you have bad luck with women..."

Daniel snorted derisively and barked a hoarse laugh. "No shit. Women are the bane of my existence. I'm seriously thinking about entering a monastery."

Jenrali chuckled. "A Human monastery? That's a cute joke."

"No, seriously," Daniel insisted, "we have monasteries."

Jenrali gaped. "You mean... oh. With both sexes?"

"No," Daniel told him. "Celibate. The sexes are kept separate." Jenrali was stunned into silence. After a moment Daniel glanced over and added uncomfortably, "It's not like we don't have any self-discipline at all."

"I didn't mean... What I... _kvitck,_ " he muttered. "That must be a torment for your priests and priestesses."

"Not as painful as the alternative sometimes," Daniel growled. "Every woman I ever let get near me has either gotten me beat up or shot at. Or both."

"Shall I tell Sehlra you said that?" Jenrali needled.

"She's the only one," Daniel admitted. "The first girl I ever fell for was on the first ship they put me on after I lost my parents. She was the captain's daughter. He didn't think I was good enough for her, so he had her brothers use me as a training aid in their martial arts exercises."

Jenrali winced. "It turned out to be useful later though," he pointed out. "You have always been able to hold your own in a tavern brawl."

"Then there was Althea," Daniel sighed.

"The girl you said you met on Vulcan?" Jenrali's antennae perked up. Daniel seldom talked about that part of his life.

"Yeah." He brooded and flipped directions again. This time he ducked under the bars and started working his way along hanging beneath the rails with his knees tucked to his chest. "She was doing inventory tracking in the office of the shipyard where I worked. There were exactly seven Humans in the entire shipyard, and only the two of us were anywhere near the same age. We got kinda close." He dropped to the floor and stood up.

"What happened?" Jenrali asked carefully. Daniel looked rueful.

"Different goals. She wanted to move to a farming colony and start a big family. I wanted to go back to space." He stared into distance for a moment. "She's probably married with two or three kids by now. I wonder sometimes...," he shook his head violently. "I made my choice, and I don't really regret it. I would have gone crazy planetside… back then anyway."

"What you need," Jenrali said slowly and delicately, "is a woman who will stay with you. A woman you can trust to guard your back. A woman who is willing to travel with you."

"A woman who doesn't exist," Daniel dismissed the idea. "There aren't any Human women this side of beta Triangulus, much less one like that, unless you count Starfleet. And I could just see one of those tight puckered …"

"Would she have to be Human?" Jenrali asked mildly. Daniel stopped and considered.

"I don't know," he said slowly. "You don't see too many mixed couples anywhere. My people almost never marry outside of our own species."

"You have some kind of law against it?" Jenrali wanted to know. "Is it taboo? Or against custom?"

"No, that's not it," Daniel assured him. "But we haven't been in space that long, and there aren't that many compatible races out here, or we haven't met many so far. It's not everyone that could tolerate living with a Human, you know."

Jenrali turned his head and covered a strangled cough with his hand. "I suppose you might be right, at that," he managed to agree. The old man cleared his throat and went on, "What about Vulcans? You've known them for generations, and your people are physically similar."

"I've heard about that happening," Daniel said, to Jenrali's surprise. "Rarely. But it's always a Vulcan man and a Human woman. I've never heard of it happening the other way." He paused. "Human women want men who're stronger than they are."

"Would that be a problem for you? Picking a strong woman?" Jenrali wondered. Andorian women were as strong as the men, in some cases stronger.

"Not really," Daniel told him, shrugging. "We Humans are hard coded to find strength attractive. Both genders are. But I'm guessing that Vulcan women probably look at it the same way Human women do, which might explain why you never see a Human male and a Vulcan female together, not even mentioning the difference in lifespan and the difference in sex drives…and the difference in lifestyles…and the fact that Vulcans consider us stinking barbarians who carry parasites and might bite if we get too close," he finished with a smirk.

Jenrali pointed out. "But not everyone thinks alike. What about T'Riss? She seems to be a fine lass." He held his breath.

Daniel flinched. "Are you crazy, old man? With what she's been through, if a guy even tried to put a hand on her T'Riss would rip his arm off at the shoulder. She's scared to death of men now. Believe me, I do not want a frightened Vulcan getting hold of me."

Jenrali sighed in frustration. "Not necessarily, lad. She likes you," he pointed out. "I can tell that much. She never acts afraid when she's around you."

"That's because I never push her," Daniel answered. "I keep my distance and respect her space. The one time I didn't, she ran away." He gave Jenrali a wry smile. "One thing I did learn on Vulcan is that Vulcans aren't anywhere near emotionless. You know that as well as I do," he pointed out.

"Yes," Jenrali admitted. "And when their control breaks, it breaks all the way."

"And then I'd have a raging wildcat on my hands," Daniel finished up. "A wildcat that's stronger than I am and completely insane with fearful rage. No, thank you. I'd like to survive long enough to see my kids grow up, or at least to have a few kids."

"You have to admit, though," Jenrali tried a new tack, "that she is a fine looking girl."

"Well, yeah," Daniel tried unsuccessfully to sound indifferent. "She's, um, nice. In fact, she's definitely what my people would call 'hot'. But in this case I think that just means she'd end up burning me."

Jenrali shut up and started considering. It was time to consult with Sehlra again. The lad was going to be difficult. Hopefully she was having better luck with the girl.

#

Damin opened his eyes. Something was different.

He lay on the only slightly uncomfortable bunk—he'd certainly slept on worse—and reached as far as his mind would go. Closest to the brig, he felt the minds of the security officers stationed in the armory. Alpha shift was just coming on duty. Their surface thoughts were of weapons maintenance, memories of a recent breakfast, and the occasional dream from the night before. Pushing outward, thoughts became less clear, causing emotions to come to the fore. A flash of intense curiosity blared from engineering. He tried to get a closer look, but whoever it was had mental shields up. It was probably Tucker, the engineer, since Damin could feel his Vulcan mate in sickbay, and she had shields up, too. Someone must have warned them about his abilities, probably the Vulcan telepath.

He caught the sense of something anticipated from the bridge crew—something potentially dangerous—but the details were too far away to read. To Damin's surprise, Captain Archer wasn't on the bridge. Damin could tell, because the Human captain's unusual shields made him stand out like a Betazoid wedding guest at a fancy dress ball. He searched the ship mentally, trying to find the man, and finally located a tightly closed mind in rapid transit.

He must be in the turbolift.

Then Archer was walking down the corridor toward the brig, and Damin realized that it was time to get up and get ready. By the time the captain walked into the brig's antechamber flanked by two armed security guards, Damin was sitting atop a neatly made bunk dressed in nearly transparent cream colored trousers overlying a pair of metallic gold briefs, bare-chested, with his curls attractively combed and his multicolored silk jacket artistically draped around his shoulders. It never hurt to be prepared. One never knew where a person's interests might lie, especially in the case of someone with such impenetrable shields. Damin smiled at him through the glass partition.

"Hello, Captain. How kind of you to visit," he said, trying to project sincerity and just the proper amount of innocent vulnerability. Archer raised a brow, eyeing him from head to foot with a dubious expression. Damin sighed mentally.

"If you want to get dressed before we start, I'll wait," said Archer. Damin smirked, shrugged into his jacket, and buttoned it up.

"That's all right, Captain. I'm accustomed to doing business half dressed," he said. Archer snorted, shaking his head, then walked into the cell, leaving the guards out of reach, presumably out of Damin's sphere of control, and handed Damin a padd.

"What can you tell me about this ship?" he asked. On the padd was a sensor image of the Aehallh. "Before you say anything, you should know that if you provide me with false information you're endangering the lives of a whole ship full of innocent refugees." He stood waiting with his arms crossed over his chest. Damin feigned a study of the image while he tried to probe the surrounding minds for details. The captain's frustrating shields held firm, and the guards had no idea about what was going on. Their minds were fully occupied with watching him to make certain he didn't harm their captain—not that they could have done anything about it had Damin had any desire to do so.

"The ship is definitely Romulan," Damin conceded. He looked up, holding to his innocent façade. "What does it have to do with refugees?" he asked. Archer's jaw tightened. Damin could sense his suspicion. The Human knew he was holding something back. The realization disturbed Damin, because he was usually a superb liar. His life often depended on it.

"Page down," growled Archer, jerking his chin at the padd. Damin did so, and what he read caused a chill to run up his spine. His mother was cold-blooded and calculating, but She rarely killed people en masse. She much preferred doing it one-on-one. She was getting desperate now, though, and was going to slaughter seventy-three innocent beings unless he gave himself up—or unless he could help these Humans outwit Her. Damin considered his options. He could continue running—if, indeed, this captain would allow that—or he could finally stand and fight Her with a Human warship as his ally—and quite possibly a D'Kyr cruiser as well if he could convince the Vulcans that his plan would work. He looked up at the captain.

"I know this 'representative of the Romulan Empire', Captain, and she's no such thing. She's just a stealth ship commander caught behind enemy lines," he said. "Her ship is no match for yours."

Archer looked surprised by the sudden turnaround. "So, you'll help us?"

Damin stuck out a hand, Human fashion, and dredged up a bit of the Human vernacular he'd been picking up from those around him since coming aboard. "I'll tell you what. I'll give you information if you'll keep my ass out of a Romulan brig. Deal?"

Archer grasped Damin's hand with a bemused expression. They shook on it. Damin grinned confidently. Now he just had to come up with a plan.

#

T'Pol entered sickbay preoccupied. She'd intended to speak with Trip immediately after the briefing, but the arrival of the sensor baffles by transporter had effectively side-tracked her plans to get him alone. It was fortunate, she supposed, since she hadn't yet decided what to tell him about her early morning meeting with Captain Archer. Although she'd worn the Starfleet issue uniform that day to reassure her commanding officer, she still felt the need to discuss the situation with her mate before making a final decision. The captain's new persona was, not surprisingly, hard to read. If this situation was going to permanently impair the captain's trust in her, her position as first officer of Enterprise might have just become untenable. She needed Trip's opinion. He knew Jonathan Archer so much better than she did.

"May I help you, Commander?" Phlox's expression was attentive but subtly disapproving. He'd made no secret of his dissatisfaction with the captain's decision to hold Senek in sickbay.

"I'm here to invite Agent Senek to breakfast," T'Pol replied. Phlox's face broke out in a smile. T'Pol raised a brow. The Denobulan was so easy to please.

"Of course, Commander…right this way." He led her to the isolation chamber and activated the comm placed by the airlock..

"Agent Senek? Commander T'Pol is here to see you."

"_I'll be right there, Doctor." _

"The isolation chamber, Doctor?" asked T'Pol, puzzled.

"He's been here for two days, Commander. He needed a private place to meditate," Phlox explained. T'Pol blinked at that, and then nodded, somewhat ashamed that the need had not occurred to her. The airlock hissed and Senek stepped out, looking rested.

"It is agreeable to see you this morning, Commander," he said.

"And you, Agent Senek. Have you eaten?" T'Pol asked, her manner as pleasantly social as any Vulcan diplomat's.

"Not since my evening meal yesterday," Senek replied. "Are you my rescuer, by any chance?" He wasn't smiling, but he might as well have been. Either he'd grown considerably less rigid in his emotional control in the years since they'd served together in the Security Directorate or the man was making a deliberate attempt at humor. The change was a pleasant one.

"Our chef makes a Human specialty called pancakes which I believe you may find appetizing," T'Pol returned. "Would you join me for breakfast?"

Senek gave a genteel nod and gestured for her to precede him. She did so. He undoubtedly knew that she wanted something from him, but the proprieties had to be observed.

#

"I recommend the chamomile tea," T'Pol said, extracting her cup from the dispenser. "I find it aids concentration, and the taste is not unpleasant."

"You are the native guide in this circumstance," Senek told her amiably. He placed an order and watched with evident interest as the dispenser filled his cup. They retrieved their trays and headed for the farthest corner of the room. They seated themselves and, to T'Pol's surprise, Senek immediately demonstrated his familiarity with Human table utensils. "Pleasant. I had not sampled pancakes before this. Human cuisine is so vast and varied that I believe it would be impossible to try it all in one lifetime."

"You may be correct," T'Pol allowed, carefully spreading the syrup over her single pancake with her fork. "I am only now beginning to truly understand the extent of Human cultural wealth, both in variety and depth."

"You are in a unique position, T'Pol," Senek told her seriously. "I truly hope that you will consider documenting your experiences. Future generations of Vulcans would benefit greatly from your insight, and perhaps even future generations of Humans also, by providing an alternative viewpoint from which to observe themselves."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow. "I will consider it. Some Humans have adopted the custom of keeping a personal log, in parallel with the official log that every crewmember is required to maintain. Such a document might be useful."

"Indeed," Senek agreed. He took another bite. "Now that we have satisfied Human custom by engaging in small talk," he continued, "feel free to proceed with the interrogation." He chewed complacently and washed the bite down with a sip of tea.

T'Pol closed her eyes in resignation. The man hadn't changed much after all. "The Romulans have captured one of the refugee transports from the Orion station." Senek tensed visibly. "They demand the return of the Vulcan operative as well as Mr. Damin within twelve hours or they will kill the hostages."

Senek's face was ice. "What has been done so far?"

" Sehlat has set course for the coordinates from which the message originated. Enterprise is on course for the Orion station with Lerteiran so that Le'Matya can assume escort responsibility. We will collect sensor baffles at the station, after which Enterprise will rejoin Sehlat."

"And?" he prodded.

T'Pol took a deep breath. "Trip and…" She stopped and stiffened. Focused so intently on her conversation with Senek, she had not noticed the approach of her bondmate. Suddenly a flash of irritation, approaching the level of anger, broke through her shields. She surreptitiously glanced over her shoulder to see Trip moving down the line and assembling a breakfast tray. The morning crowd had thinned out to almost nothing and he had obviously seen them. She felt her ears getting hot. This could not go on. She owed him an explanation. She had sworn to herself, and promised him, that her days of hiding things from him were over. Besides, this was going to affect his life just as much as hers, and she could not possibly make this decision alone.

Senek was an old friend and mentor, the closest thing to a father she had left. He would understand.

"Excuse me for a moment," she told Senek. His brow went up, but he nodded. T'Pol stood up and headed for Trip, intercepting him halfway to his table. "T'hyla," she whispered. He stopped in shock. She never used that word in public. "Will you join us? I have much to tell you, and I hope that my elder may advise us both."

"Uh. Sure." Trip looked rattled. "Let me get... nah. Leave 'em for Malcolm. Shit, Malcolm's coming. He... oh crap. To hell with it." Trip turned and headed for the table where Senek waited. T'Pol followed nervously.

#

Trip sat with his forehead resting in the palms of his hands, while his fingernails dug into his scalp. This was too much to swallow in one sitting. "Why didn't you tell me?" he demanded hoarsely without raising his head.

"It was the middle of the night and you needed sleep," T'Pol said. "I have not had the opportunity since then until now."

"That's not what I meant." Trip abruptly slammed both hands down on the table. He straightened and saw Senek watching him carefully. Too bad. If Senek didn't like it, he could shove it. "Why didn't you tell me about the other thing? You promised me no more secrets!" His voice was suppressed, but emotion forced it out in the form of a shrill whisper.

T'Pol looked unhappy. "I have just told you, Trip. It didn't seem important..."

"Bullshit." He glared at her. "If you're going to sit here and lie to my face, I'm leaving." She flinched. "You told me now, after Hoshi figured it out, and after the cap'n dug it out of Surak's memories. Something tells me that if neither of those things had happened, you never would have mentioned it to me, would you?"

"If I may?" Senek interjected delicately.

"No you may not," Trip retorted rudely. "This is private." Senek raised his brow and obediently subsided. Trip turned back to T'Pol. "Well?"

T'Pol sighed and gave in. "It might have endangered you to tell you, and you had no need of the information,"

"Oh that's beautiful." Trip threw up his hands. "So now we're on a strictly need to know basis. Do I get the same privilege? Can I keep anything secret that appeals to me unless you absolutely need to know about it?" He ignored the heads turning toward them at the nearby tables.

T'Pol raised a brow at him. "It was my judgment that telling you would do more harm than good," she replied quietly. "If my decision distresses you, I am sorry, but it is my duty, both as your mate and as your superior officer, to protect you from harm when possible." Trip opened his mouth to debate the point, but she interrupted him. "Tell me… if you had information valuable to the enemy…information which might put me in danger if the enemy discovered I had possession of it… would you reveal it to me unless I had a need to know it?"

Trip gritted his teeth. Her cool response infuriated him. Her reasoning infuriated him. She was always thinking of him as the weak one because he was Human.

"I'm not your child, dammit. Stop treating me like one," he growled between his teeth. Then he stood up and stomped off, heading straight for the door, shouldering aside a perplexed looking Malcolm Reed on the way out.

#

Senek watched the young man stalk away and felt tired. They were both so very young, and Trip was even younger than T'Pol. Like all young things, they were both easily hurt. He looked across the table and saw his former protégé with a look of distress on her face.

"His irritation will subside," Senek told her quietly in Vulcan. "Your bond will ensure this. What has just happened is merely part of the process of learning about each other."

"The longer we are together," T'Pol said with a sigh, "the more I hurt him."

"Foolish child," Senek told her gently. "Your marriage is in its infancy. Even if you were both Vulcan or both Human, your time together has barely begun. It takes time to learn of each other. It takes time for each of you to gain insight into how the other thinks, into how the other is likely to react to any given circumstance. He will come to understand that you meant no harm—that you were trying to act in his best interests. Just as you will learn from this that it is imperative for you to avoid even the appearance of hiding anything from him, even to protect him. Give yourselves time."

"I hope you are correct." T'Pol visibly pulled herself together. "Surely after all we have been through together it cannot be much longer before such misunderstandings subside."

Senek fought back a smile. "I have spoken to several experienced Humans who assured me that it takes approximately twenty years for the average Human marriage to stabilize." T'Pol looked horrified. "My own wife and I eventually reached a state of peaceful coexistence after a somewhat longer period."

T'Pol closed her eyes. "Perhaps we should return to discussing the Romulan situation."

"That would be best," Senek agreed. "Plainly, a prisoner exchange is out of the question. A battle plan is being prepared?"

"Tentatively," T'Pol told him. "We are accessing all of our available information regarding Romulan technology and tactics. However, it would be of inestimable assistance if the Security Directorate would be willing to share its knowledge of the Rihansuu."

"Captain Archer's knowledge is insufficient?" asked Senek with mock innocence.

"It is several centuries out of date," T'Pol pointed out.

"A valid point," Senek admitted. "However, I am in no position to provide anything at the moment."

T'Pol's only evidence of disappointment was a slightly heavier exhalation. Senek felt a pang of regret nonetheless. T'Pol deserved his trust after recent events. Of course, she was now wearing a standard Starfleet uniform. The significance of the wardrobe change wasn't totally lost on him.

"After our meeting Captain Archer wishes to meet with you," she said. "Once we reach the station you are free to board the Le'Matya or return with us to join the Sehlat."

Senek nodded, and then relented. "I can promise nothing until I speak with T'Lar, but I personally see no disadvantage in sharing some of our tactical data. Security must sometimes be tempered by pragmatism."

"There is one other matter," T'Pol told him. "The young man, Damin. He is, by his own report, Betazoid. The captain would appreciate your assessment of him. I suspect him to be a powerful telepath. At several points since his arrival I have detected probing contacts against my shields, very light, and very brief, as if he were merely testing me.

"Agreed," Senek said quickly. "I have also detected probes. I would be very interested in meeting with him. Perhaps I can convince him to assist in this situation."

#

Malcolm Reed stepped over the threshold of the engineering department in full search and rescue mode, with a padd in one hand and a wrapped sandwich in the other. He stood near the door and scanned the room with his eyes.

"He's in his office," Lieutenant Hess called from her station. She grimaced. "Careful. He's in a mood."

"Warning duly noted. Thanks," Malcolm replied with a wry smile, and headed for the closed door of the office. He hesitated for a moment before pressing the button. The tail end of the public row he'd witnessed in the mess hall less than an hour ago had been impressive, almost like old times for the two commanders. He debated whether he should give Trip some more cooling down time, but the project they were working on was too urgent for that. He the button and spoke into the voiceplate. "Trip. It's me. All you all right in there?'

"Come in," answered the engineer in a dispirited voice

The door opened and Malcolm stepped inside to see Trip hunched over his desk with his head in his hands. The Englishman grimaced briefly, and then smoothed his expression. He put the sandwich on the desk. "I noticed you left without eating… so, here."

Trip straightened and pulled a padd from the top of the stack beside him. "Thanks," he said without looking up.

"Feel up to a bit more work? I have some questions about the parasitic harmonics in the holoprojectors we saw aboard that probe."

Trip raised his head and blinked. "Sure." He rubbed his eyes. "Sorry about leaving you hanging like that, Malcolm. I just... I'm sorry."

"Not to worry," Malcolm said heartily, pulling up a spare chair to the opposite side of the desk. "I supposed you could use a few moments to collect yourself."

Trip hit the desk with his fist. "Why does she keep doing this? I'm just so tired of all the damned secrets!" He expelled a harsh breath. Looking sheepish, he glanced up. His lips twisted. "Sorry."

"Care to talk about it?" Malcolm kept his tone carefully noncommittal as he spread the padds out on the desktop.

Trip looked torn. Then he nodded. "Listen, Malcolm. I need to tell you something. As Security Chief you have a right to know this anyway." Malcolm looked up, suddenly on high alert. "But this is absolutely top secret, understand? This is in the same basket as me and T'Pol being married. You have to give me your word that you won't let anyone else know that I told you this. Please? I won't ask you to lie. If the cap'n asks, then... I guess you have to admit you know about it, but please don't tell him I'm the one who told you."

Malcolm's mind was racing. What was Trip talking about? T'Pol was ex-Security Directorate. There were probably hundreds of things she knew which her ex-employers would never want her to reveal to her Human husband. The possibilities just boggled the mind. Had she been Human, she would certainly have been asked to sign a non-disclosure agreement prior to her reassignment. As an ex-agent of Section 31, Malcolm was nothing if not sympathetic to the confidentiality issues her marriage to Trip might cause. He had no idea how she dealt with them. "Does the captain already know this information?" he asked.

"Yeah," Trip laughed painfully. "Oh, yeah. The captain knows. That's what the fight was about that I had with T'Pol. It's also what got Hoshi in trouble." Malcolm tensed and leaned forward.

"Tell me," he demanded.

"It's about the Romulans," Trip said moodily. "It's about who they really are."

"Who they really are," Malcolm repeated carefully. "Who are they, Trip?"

Trip laughed again. His voice was hoarse with irony. "They're Vulcans, Mal. Romulans are the descendants of renegade Vulcans who left because they wouldn't follow Surak."

The remaining padds fell out of Malcom's nerveless hands to clatter across the desk. He snapped to his feet and took a couple of dazed steps across the room. "Oh, my Lord," he murmured, wandering blindly over to lean against the bulkhead. "Do you have any idea of the damage that this could do to the alliance if it gets out?"

"That's what has T'Pol so scared," Trip told him.

"Are you sure?" Malcolm whispered. Potential consequences chased themselves in circles in his mind.

"T'Pol is," Trip told him tiredly. "So is Senek. So is the cap'n I guess. It seems that Hoshi found all kinds of similarities to Vulcan in the Romulan language and mentioned it to T'Pol. T'Pol talked her into keeping quiet about and hiding it, but..."

"Bloody hell!" Malcolm spun around to face Trip, staring in horror. "No. She didn't."

"She did," Trip confirmed sympathetically. "Except the cap'n still has some of Surak's memories rattling around in his head, and he eventually dug out who they were anyway. So Hoshi got busted."

Malcolm rubbed his forehead, trying to erase an incipient headache with little success. "She deliberately conspired to withhold tactically critical information and deceive her commanding officer? Trip..." He dropped his hand and looked agonized, "This is a court-martial offense." He paused, "Oh, Lord. They might even charge her with High Treason."

"Relax, Mal," Trip advised him. "If the cap'n was gonna charge her with anything she'd be in the brig right now. You know that."

Malcolm stood a moment before nodding slowly. "I asked her why she was so upset, and she told me that she had gotten a dressing down. I asked her if I could help, and she told me that it was no more than she deserved, and asked me to let it go. But this..." He shook his head. "My Lord, Trip. She committed treason."

"She didn't commit treason, Mal," Trip said. "She obeyed T'Pol, and they both thought that they were doing the right thing. You said yourself that it would damage the alliance if it got out."

Malcolm's face twisted. "T'Pol had no right to ask this of her," he retorted.

Trip stood up. "Easy, Mal," he said in an aggrieved tone. "Hoshi had the right to refuse an order she considered treasonous and appeal to the captain, but she agreed with it. They're equally responsible."

Malcolm faced off with him, fists clenched. Trip took an identical stance. They glared at each other. The tension in the room was palpable. Then Trip's stomach growled—loudly. He just scowled more, but Malcolm smirked.

"Hungry?" he asked.

Trip stuck his tongue in one cheek in an obvious attempt to keep from smiling, then he flashed his friend a reluctant grin. "Yeah. I guess I am," he admitted.

"Trying to understand women is hungry work. Care to share that sandwich?" Malcolm asked. Trip chuckled and shook his head. He walked over to the desk, grabbed the sandwich, unwrapped it and took a huge bite of sliced turkey, cheese, and bread. Chewing, he looked over the padd that was on top of the stack. His eyes widened, and he picked it up, handing the sandwich off to Malcolm without looking at him.

"What is it? " Malcolm asked curiously, shoving the other end of the sandwich in his mouth as he stepped up to look over Trip's shoulder. Trip pointed at the padd. The dual nature of the sensor readings they'd done of the Romulan ship the Enterprise had encountered in the mine field, and again when they'd so briefly hosted the Romulan defector, suddenly made sense to him. Malcolm chewed quickly, so he could speak. Trip wasn't so fussy about it.

"Do you see it?" he asked, spraying minute fragments of turkey on the screen as he pointed, excited. "There? The Romulan cloak has a dual function." Malcolm nodded, still chewing. "It's got holoemitters. They fool the sensors that detect radiant energy in the visible spectrum. We can't beat them, but the rest of it works like a sensor baffle to fool the sensors that pick up non-visible radiant energy." Trip swallowed and grinned. "And… whaddaya know, we've got a Vulcan sensor baffle!" Malcolm swallowed his bite finally, and returned Trip's grin.

"Care to do a bit of reverse engineering, Commander?" he asked.

"Don't mind if I do, Lieutenant," said Trip.

#

"Mission Year Twenty- Romulan calendar year 1619 After Settlement," began Llahir, speaking directly into the microphone of the padd he'd been issued to make his debriefing report. He paused to gather his thoughts as he sat on his bunk in the brig.

Llahir had an eidetic memory, a gift considered by the Security Directorate to be a necessary requirement for such a lengthy undercover mission, but thirty years was a very long time. He'd mentally grouped events into years and associated vital information with trigger words for ease of recall.

"On 28 Ael of this year I was promoted to Centurion by the usual means among officers. That is, by the death of my immediate superior. The general assumption was that I was responsible. I was in no way involved, but an acquaintance of mine, a fellow junior officer with an eye on me as a potential mate, had decided that I required an increase in pay grade. Unfortunately, her role was discovered and she was executed.

"I therefore took it upon myself to secure the loyalty of my subordinates in order to avoid assassination as I advanced in rank, and in the ensuing months used a strategy of verbal positive reinforcement for exemplary performance, irregularly supplementing my verbal support with gifts of ale or other consumables. Combined with consistent and fair disciplinary measures for substandard performance involving increases in distasteful duties but no violence, a tactic those around me found unusual, my techniques soon resulted in a vigorous competition for my approval amongst the staff and a general upgrade in efficiency. I experienced only one assassination attempt during this period which was discovered by another member of my staff prior to the event. The would-be assassin was easily eliminated.

"An unusually large number of merit promotions occurred that year among those serving under me. My methods of discipline and the loyalty and superior performance of my subordinates caught the attention of Commander Sienae, who had recently been granted her own command, and she requested that I be reassigned from my duty as an aide at the Central Headquarters at Gal'gathong and placed in her service on the stealth vessel Aehallh. I had by that time gleaned a great deal of useful information and was eager to make my report. Leaving Romulan space under the command of a relatively young and inexperienced commander seemed a good opportunity to seek retrieval. Unfortunately, although she seemed intrigued by my methods, it soon became clear to me that my new commanding officer was firmly committed to more traditionally Romulan methods of discipline…"

Llahir paused in his dictation at the entry buzzer. He set the padd aside and rose, straightening his unadorned ship's coverall. The outward facing walls of the cells in the Sehlat's brig were usually transparent for security, but the captain had ordered his made opaque for privacy, converting the cell into a windowless and claustrophobic space.

"Enter."

It could only be one person at the door. There were only two individuals aboard authorized to have direct contact with him prior to the completion of his debriefing, and one of them was extremely busy dealing with the latest crisis. Sienae wanted him back, and, typically, she was willing to kill to get her way. He knew that it was only a matter of time before T'Lar got desperate enough to ask for his help. Until that time he was a prisoner to his current circumstances, confined to a secure area until a portable sensor baffle arrived while activities of much greater interest occurred elsewhere.

Llahir stood waiting for Raijiin to enter, looking forward to her company, but after several seconds the door remained closed. He stepped forward to the opaqued outer wall of his cell, remembering only then that his door had just been modified to lock from within as an additional security measure in case of boarding action. He paused before opening the door, puzzled by the sound of a childish voice from the other side.

"You weren't in your cabin, so I asked the computer to find you. Can we have our sweet tea and cakes now?" it asked eagerly.

"Selim, you really shouldn't be here, dear one," Rajiin's voice replied. "I know I promised we'd have a treat this afternoon, but I'm very busy working. I'm afraid we'll have to do it some other time."

Llahir activated the door. As it whooshed open, a small Vulcan boy looked up at him wide-eyed. Standing beside the child with one arm curved protectively around him, Raijiin greeted him with an embarrassed smile. Llahir pursed his lips, considering the wisdom of what he was about to do. The boy was obviously the younger brother Commander T'Lar had spoken of, and he couldn't afford to alienate the Vulcan commander. On the other hand, except for the Human food Raijiin had shared with him on the first day of his arrival, he hadn't had anything but unseasoned vegetables in days.

"I would enjoy some sweet tea and cakes. May I join you?" he inquired.

A fleeting smile lit the boy's face before he sobered and, nodding at Llahir as if to an ally, turned to Raijiin with an expectant look. His attempt at Vulcan decorum nearly brought a smile to Llahir's lips. The boy was like children everywhere, willing to do anything, even behave as he should, in order to obtain sweets. Raijiin crossed her arms over her chest, gazing reprovingly at both of them.

"I'm not sure how we'll manage that, since you…" she pointed at the child, "…aren't allowed to talk to strangers, and you…" she wagged a finger in an identical fashion at Llahir, to his amusement, "…aren't allowed out of here until your report is done, by express order of both Commander T'Lar and your superiors back on Vulcan." Llahir sighed and rolled his eyes. The Security Directorate was taking no chances with the precious information in his head. He maintained no illusions about their desire to safeguard his wellbeing, though, after being left to his own devices and assumed dead for thirty years.

"He's not a stranger. You know him," protested the boy. "Besides, he looks hungry." He shot Llahir a conspiratorial look.

"I am, indeed," Llahir confirmed in a sober fashion. Raijiin bit her lip. Her eyes shone with suppressed amusement.

"All right," she conceded, shaking her head. She turned to the boy. "Selim, come with me." Her tone was brisk and businesslike. "We'll be back in five minutes. Please use the time to dictate," she called over her shoulder as they walked away.

Llahir pressed his right fist to his left shoulder and nodded in a mocking salute to her retreating back. After she left the brig's antechamber with the boy he allowed himself a smile.

#

"Captain Archer, I have no wish to be deliberately difficult," said Jenrali in a strained voice. He exhaled heavily and shifted in his chair on Lerteiran's small bridge. "We are very appreciative of your assistance." Daniel bit his lip to keep from laughing and focused his attention on the weapons console. The Andorian captain was actually getting diplomatic in his old age. The effort looked painful. Daniel glanced at T'Riss, stationed at helm. She was eyeing Jenrali with what looked to Daniel like concern. Daniel scowled. Since when did she care about Andorians?

"_Then why are you following us, Captain Jenrali? Your ship is a civilian vessel. You and your crew will be much safer back at the station under Vulcan protection,"_ replied Archer from Lerteiran's forward viewscreen.

"Under the protection of the Le'Matya, Captain? Excuse me if I'm skeptical," countered Jenrali. "Our last encounter with the Le'Matya left us in need of a new reactor core."

Daniel grimaced, rubbing his nose. It was still sore where he'd broken it during the Vulcan ship's attack. He glanced at T'Riss again. Now she looked guilty. What was with the girl?

"_Commander T'Lar assures me that the Le'Matya has strict orders…,"_ began Archer.

"We're well armed," Jenrali cut in impatiently. "You've made certain of that. If we join you then this Romulan will have three opponents instead of two."

Archer blew out a breath and gave up. _"Very well, Captain,"_ he conceded. _"Follow us if you must, but please stay out of the line of fire. And any damage to your ship this time is your responsibility, not ours." _

Ouch, thought Daniel, grimacing. Jenrali straightened in his chair as if stung.

"Agreed," he retorted. "Please keep us informed. Our weapons are at your disposal." Without further courtesy, Jenrali closed the connection on Archer's startled face.

"You're going to let him talk to you like that?" asked Daniel, amazed.

"The man's used Earth resources to repair our ship twice and hasn't asked for anything but the cost of supplies," Jenrali replied in a resigned tone. "He's got no reason to trust my combat skills. Every battle I've been in since he's known me has ended with the Lerteiran dead in space."

"The Vulcan thing was a misunderstanding, the Nausicans had us outnumbered four to one, and he can't expect us to defend ourselves against an invisible opponent," protested Daniel.

"You mean the same opponent we've just volunteered to fight?" asked Jenrali rhetorically. He nodded at T'Riss's questioning look, and Daniel saw the Vulcan girl make the required course change. She certainly wasn't saying much, even for a Vulcan. Then he remembered that she'd been on late watch before he'd come on duty that day. She must be getting tired and hungry by now.

"Want me to take the helm while you take a break and get something to eat?" he offered in a quiet voice. She blinked at him, looking startled. She said nothing for several seconds before replying, looking as if she were searching for an appropriate social response. He gave her a wry smile, waiting for it. The woman was hopeless at personal interactions, but at least she wasn't trying to get him out of his pants.

"Thank you," she finished finally, and rose from her chair. She took a step toward the access ladder and then turned. "Do you wish me to bring you something from the galley?"

Daniel grinned. She was getting better at this. "No thanks, I'm fine," he replied. He got up from his seat at the weapons console, stepped to the helm, seated himself, and eyed Jenrali, who was studiously not looking at them. The old Andorian had a small, pleased smile on his face. Great, nothing like giving the old man encouragement with his harebrained matchmaking scheme. "What about you, Captain? Need anything?"

Jenrali raised his mug. "I am well-fortified," he told them. Coffee-scented steam wafted through the room. Daniel snorted.

"Better be careful with that stuff, Captain."

"It's decaf!" insisted Jenrali. "Tastes good, though," he added, taking a sip and closing his eyes with a sigh.

"If you say so," said Daniel, rolling his eyes. He couldn't throw stones. He couldn't function in the morning without his coffee.

"Just close your mouth and drive, you impertinent boy," retorted Jenrali.

#

"More tea, Selim?" Raijiin asked, amused. The boy's cheeks bulged like a ground rodent's. Crumbs escaped his lips to shower over his chest. He nodded vigorously in response, being unable to respond otherwise while chewing, and extended his cup. She poured as requested, reveling in the waves of bliss the boy was radiating. His happiness was contagious. Even the hard-bitten Vulcan agent seemed susceptible. He claimed to be utterly non-telepathic and therefore should have been immune to Selim's unusually strong empathic talent, so it must be something else. As they sat around the small table she'd had brought in to his cell, pouring in turns from the teapot she'd borrowed from the galley, she could see the man relaxing by stages.

"The cakes have a pleasant flavor," said Llahir, looking with interest at the half-eaten round in his hand. "Are these native to your home world? I don't recognize the spice."

"They're Human," replied Raijiin. "Something called ginger-bread."

Llahir raised a brow and then took another bite, closing his eyes and rolling the cake around in his mouth as he chewed. Raijiin had never seen a Vulcan savor his food like that. Then he swallowed. "I'll have to check the Earth database for the recipe and add it to my list," he said. "These will be an excellent addition to the dessert menu when I open my restaurant."

So he was an aspiring chef, Raijiin thought. Interesting. She smiled at the thought of him in a kitchen with an apron on. With his rigidly military bearing and lean physique he hardly looked the type.

Selim choked, took a large gulp of tea, and finally managed to swallow his huge mouthful. "You cook?" he exclaimed, spraying crumbs. Among Vulcans, Raijiin knew, cooking was a service occupation requiring neither skill nor imagination, analogous to doing laundry or cleaning floors, and was not something commonly done by an officer unless his survival was at stake.

"The life of a soldier of the Romulan Empire, in my experience, is 95 percent stultifying boredom interspersed with short periods of abject terror," Llahir responded. "One must have something to occupy one's time." He took a sip of tea while the boy regarded him in surprise. "I also sew and darn socks," he said. Raijiin bit her lip and looked studiously into her teacup.

"Terror? You mean, you were afraid?" asked Selim.

"Fear is a natural biological response to being threatened with imminent death, and when properly controlled, increases one's chances of survival in a life-threatening situation," Llahir told him.

"Increases?" inquired Raijiin, sipping her tea. This was a justification she'd never heard before, especially not from a Vulcan.

"Indeed. Fear, properly channeled, causes an increase in vigilance, physical strength, and stamina. That is its biologic purpose, to increase one's chances of escape from a physical threat," replied Llahir. "It is a perfectly normal, and quite useful, response in some situations."

The boy just stared at him and blinked. Raijiin couldn't blame the child. What Llahir was saying was eminently logical, and yet the admission that emotion was a useful and normal response in any situation was not an admission most Vulcans would ever make.

"So, being afraid is logical?" Selim asked, cocking his small head and wrinkling his brow with the effort of getting his mind around the concept.

"It can be, given the appropriate circumstances," Llahir confirmed. Then he downed the rest of his tea. The boy smiled slightly. Raijiin could sense his relief and pride, and suddenly understood. He'd spent months on the Orion station afraid, an emotion which his Vulcan heritage did not allow him to treat as an acceptable response. Llahir had just normalized the entire experience for him. Raijiin studied the agent, who was complacently pouring himself another cup of tea. Did he realize what he'd just done for the boy? Probably not, but she couldn't be sure. It was frustratingly hard to read his emotions without touching him, an attribute she'd found to be common to members of non-telepathic species, but not a difficulty she generally had with Vulcans.

The entry buzzer sounded. Selim gave Raijiin an alarmed look. She smiled reassuringly, but his concern was understandable. He wasn't supposed to be here, and T'Lar's favorite punishment for disobedience, confinement to their cabin with a computer console for his only company, was very hard for a boy his age. Llahir rose and stepped to the door, partially blocking the view from outside as the door swished open. "May I help you?" he asked.

"Agent Llahir, Commander T'Lar requests your presence in her ready room," announced the young centurion at the door. He extended a wide belt with what looked like a rectangular control box attached to Llahir, who fastened it around his waist, looking pleased. It was the portable sensor baffle, Raijiin assumed, which meant that Enterprise had joined them. Raiijin didn't recognize the Vulcan at the door, but Selim obviously did. He ducked beneath the table.

Raijiin rose and stepped to stand beside Llahir, effectively blocking the centurion's view of the interior of the cell. She motioned with one hand behind her back, trying to signal to Selim to stay hidden, and smiled pleasantly at the centurion. "Does the Commander also require my assistance?" she asked him. The young man tipped his head in assent.

"She asks that you escort Agent Llahir to the meeting, while I…" His eyes traveled past her into the cell behind them, and she realized that Selim's efforts had been for naught. "I will take charge of young Selim," his voice rose reprovingly to resound in the confines of the brig, "Since his tutoring session was scheduled to begin thirty minutes ago!"

"I'm sorry, Samel. I'm coming," said a small voice from beneath the table.

#

The captain's ready room on Enterprise seemed crowded when Senek stepped over the threshold escorted by Commander T'Pol. The atmosphere was tense but less hostile than the last time he'd been there under interrogation. Captain Archer nodded politely to him as if he were a member of the team, and motioned for him to take a chair. Seated about the table were Commander Tucker, Lieutenant Reed, Ensign Sato, and the Betazoid telepath Damin, who had a portable sensor baffle belted about his slender waist and looked uncharacteristically somber seated next to Captain Archer. A computer console rose from the center of the table. The screen was split between views of Commander T'Lar aboard the Sehlat and an older Andorian male that Senek assumed was the captain of the Lerteiran. The Andorian was a surprising addition to the group, since the Lerteiran was supposed to be tucked safely under the Le'Matya's figurative wing back at the Orion station. That was obviously not the case, for the interference wrought by the nebula would have made such clear transmission impossible.

"Now that we're all here," began Archer, "I'd like to present a plan for the resolution of this crisis suggested by Mister Damin, who claims specialized knowledge of this woman identifying herself as 'the representative of the Romulan Empire in this sector of space'.

"_What sort of 'specialized knowledge'?"_ asked someone male from behind the Andorian. _"What's his plan? Seduce the Romulan?"_

"_Daniel! Be quiet!"_ chided another voice, female this time, in maternal reproof. The Lertieran's captain turned around and growled something in Andorian, too quickly for Senek to catch the sense of it. Then he turned back to the screen with an apologetic expression. Archer cleared his throat and went on, ignoring the young Human's comment with admirable aplomb.

"The Romulan commander in question will, according to Mister Damin, not hesitate a second to do what she is threatening to do," Archer continued. "She will have no mercy, and any attempt at negotiation is pointless. Fortunately, we have an alternative." He leaned back in his chair and nodded at Commander Tucker. Tucker rose from his chair and, with a self-conscious smile, moved to Archer's side so as to be within range of the transmission cameras. Commander T'Pol's gaze followed him. She had pride on her face, clear for any Vulcan to read.

"Lieutenant Reed and I have been working on a way to penetrate the Romulan cloak," he said. "We've determined that the cloak operates in two ways simultaneously. The first is camouflage in the visual spectrum provided by holograms. There's not a whole lot we can do to see through that, at least not without some quality time with a set of Romulan holoemitters. The second way the cloak works is like a huge sensor baffle, and that we know something about, even though it's much more sophisticated than the device we've been studying." He gestured at the belt around Damin's waist. "Standard sensor baffles create an area of sensor masking that's detectable, although nothing within the area can be identified or transported out." He gestured at the computer console, and Ensign Sato reached out to the keyboard. The split screen with the paired faces of Commander T'Lar and Captain Jenrali converted to a screen full of unreadable gibberish.

"We've determined that the Romulan cloak's version of a sensor baffle relies on computer generated false sensor readings which are transmitted to fill the void left by sensor masking. These transmissions are an attempt to imitate the radiation patterns which would be generated by what the observer is seeing if the image were real. They're amazingly accurate, but they're not perfect. Ensign Sato is sending you an encrypted program which should allow your computer to identify areas of repeated patterns, where the Romulan's computer is using the equivalent of canned footage to fill the gaps."

Senek raised a brow. The reference was obscure, but his theory was sound. The quiet little ensign spoke. She could barely be heard. Senek had once thought that she was Section 31. Now he wasn't so sure. She seemed too timid.

"The program will report positive findings as the percentage likelihood of a cloak being in use," Ensign Sato said softly. All eyes in the room focused on her. The screen reverted back to the split view of the captains of the other two ships, and their attention seemed riveted as well. "I would recommend a preemptive strike with full destructive force at any location which registers greater than a seventy percent likelihood. A continuous barrage of the area will provide the best chance for a direct hit." This rather bloodthirsty statement was made in the same soft tones as before.

Perhaps timid was not the most accurate term.

"_There's a lot of space to hide in,"_ came the same young voice from behind Captain Jenrali. _"It could take forever to find this Romulan if she doesn't want to be found."_ Jenrali shot a reproving look off camera.

"That's a very good point, Mr. Johansen," said Tucker. "That's why we're going to use bait to lure her out." He gestured again at Damin, and abruptly Senek understood the Betazoid's grim expression. "Mister Damin has volunteered."

"_She won't reveal herself unless we're both there."_ The speaker stepped into the screen beside Commander T'Lar. Senek had never met him before, but he'd seen the man's dossier. He looked the part of a pre-Surak warrior—older, leaner and fiercer looking than the thirty year old images Senek had seen. Few Vulcans now had facial scars from swordplay. Llahir had several. _"So…how do you propose we do this?" _Llahir's question was addressed not to Archer, but to Damin. The Betazoid's lips twisted in wry amusement.

"If you're so eager to see her again, why don't you go without me? I'll just stay here and watch the show," he quipped.

#

_Three of them_, thought Sienae, her hands gripping the arms of her command chair in a white-knuckled grip as she stared at the viewscreen. _What am I supposed to do against three of them?_ The Earth ship, the Vulcan D'Kyr cruiser and the Andorian freighter weren't on the viewscreen together, of course. Their captains weren't so stupid that they would get that close to one another. Sensors had identified all three of them in the system, though, and just because her disappointingly inept comm officer was unable to break the encryption the three ships were using in their communications with each other didn't mean that the transmissions weren't detectable. She could guess the content. They were hunting her.

"The Vulcan shuttlecraft has reached the designated rendezvous point, Commander," announced Sub-centurion Nuhir at ops. The girl's voice was icily calm, like Llahir's had always been. All of the young officers he'd given personal attention to were like that. It was annoying.

"Did they meet our demands?" Sienae asked.

"There are two life signs aboard," replied the girl. "One matches the criteria you supplied for the Betazoid. The other is Vulcan." She brought up a closeup of the shuttle on the viewscreen.

Sienae gritted her teeth, studying the image. The vessel was a standard issue Vulcan shuttlepod, unarmed. It was a blatant trap, of course, but none of the ships pursuing her had Betazoids aboard other than her son, so at least the bait was likely genuine. That surprised her. The rumors she'd heard about the Human captain didn't describe him as someone who gave up easily. She had no way of knowing whether the captain of the Vulcan vessel that pursued her was the type to give in to demands and attempt negotiation or not. Interrogating the Vulcans she'd acquired from the Tellarite freighter had been singularly unrevealing. Either they'd known nothing about the D'Kyr cruiser that pursued her or they'd been willing to carry the information with them to their boringly logical afterlife.

"Three of them," she muttered. Uncloaking to collect her prizes would be suicide. She was outnumbered and outgunned. Then the inkling of an idea began to take shape, and she got on the comm.

"Sienae to Maklan."

"_Yes, Commander?"_ Sienae heard female shrieks in the background.

"When your men are finished, I'll need your opinion on which of them would be suited to a mission I have in mind. I'll need two volunteers who can pilot a shuttlecraft," Sienae told him.

#

"The shuttlecraft remains untouched, Commander," said Subcommander Verlen.

"Nothing above forty percent probability within sensor range, Commander, and still no sign of the missing freighter," put in the centurion at tactical.

T'Lar said nothing. A response was not required.

The whoosh of the lift doors sounded loudly in the tense and nearly silent room. Senek stepped to her elbow. She acknowledged him with a nod.

"Your timing is fortuitous, Agent Senek."

"I am grateful for your intervention, Commander," Senek replied.

"He agreed to send you back when I agreed to use one of Sehlat's shuttles for this," returned T'Lar.

"Yes, I was present during that negotiation. He was pleased. Something about 'not giving the bastards any more technology than they already have'," said Senek in a deadpan voice.

If T'Lar hadn't been so tense already, the statement might have alarmed her. Archer was assuming the existence of Romulan/Vulcan cooperation and technology sharing. It was much too close to the truth for comfort. No Human should be party to the reasons for Vulcan's recent governmental upheaval. "How much do you think he knows?" she asked.

"Enough. He knows enough to destroy everything."

"Commander, I'm reading a locus of sixty-five percent probability, closing at one-half impulse along bearing 23.08 X 12.9 X 36.543, Delta -6.3. ETA with the shuttlecraft in 17.2 minutes ," interjected the tactical officer. "Probability sixty-nine percent and rising as it approaches."

"Lock disruptors. Load forward torpedoes, maximum spread. Prepare to fire on my order," ordered T'Lar, pushing aside more remote concerns to deal with the present.

"The locus is at seventy percent…"

"Fire."

Space wavered at the targeted area, but no wreckage materialized..p

"Commander, there's a second locus now coming in from a completely different direction…eighty-five percent probability…"

Two of them? T'Lar hesitated for a fraction of a second.

"The original locus now reads ninety-seven percent."

"Ignore the new locus," said T'Lar, her hands squeezing the arms of her command chair. "Fire at our original target." The Sehlat's disruptors seemed to produce no result, firing as they did on what appeared to be empty space. On the view screen, she saw a volley of photon torpedoes depart the Enterprise and converge on a different point in space, one that also seemed empty.

"Enterprise is firing on the second locus," said Verlen.

"There is a third locus, Commander," announced the tactical officer, in a voice that sounded more alarmed than was proper for a Vulcan. "It reads eighty-seven percent and is on an intercept course with this vessel. Its estimated time of collision with us at its current speed and trajectory is…"

"Change targets. Lock phase cannons on the third locus and fire," interjected T'Lar.

The third barrage produced results at last. A winged ship flickered into view, painted with the raptor's wings and trailing debris.

"Sensors detect an impending warp core breach, Commander. We should leave the vicinity," recommended Verlen with his usual caution. T'Lar opened her mouth to give the order, but paused as she studied the viewscreen. Enterprise fired again on the second locus without obvious effect. Lerteiran, smaller and with a smaller firing range, was just coming around to bear on the first locus. Something was wrong. Why three loci?

"What are the readings now, Centurion?" T'Lar asked.

"The first locus is at ninety-five percent, Commander," reported the tactical officer. "Locus two is up to ninety-nine percent and locus three…." He paused, his brow wrinkled in puzzlement. He exchanged a perplexed look with T'Lar. "At locus three there is a ninety-eight percent probability that a cloak is still in use."

"Commander!" T'Lar looked up to the viewscreen at Verlen's cry. A raptor had appeared at the site that Enterprise was firing upon. Uncharacteristically, it fled, leading Enterprise away from the baited shuttle.

Simultaneously, a third Romulan ship materialized at the site of the first locus. It was different from the other two in that it had a Tellarite freighter in tow via tractor beam. It remained visible for only a moment beside the Vulcan shuttle—long enough for Lerteiran to fire a single barrage of phase cannons at it—and then disappeared again. "Sensors detected transporter activity, Commander. The shuttle now has no life signs aboard," said Verlen in a resigned voice. As he spoke, the remaining Romulan ship, which had shown every evidence of impending warp core breach, just vanished, leaving in its place a scattered bit of wreckage roughly the size of a shuttlecraft.

"Pursue the first locus," T'Lar said, breathing deeply to combat her frustration. "Subcommander Verlen, inform Captain Archer that the ship he is pursuing is a decoy."

"I believe he knows that, Commander," said Senek, finally breaking his observant silence. He nodded at the screen. Both Enterprise and Lerteiran were departing at warp following the trajectory of the ship that had just taken the bait, leaving the system.

"Pursue and overtake, helm. Warp six," growled T'Lar.

#

"Dammit_rekloq_sunovabitch!" Daniel swore. "I missed!" He pushed back from his console, running one hand through his hair in distress.

T'Riss completed the course correction to pursue the locus of cloaking, which now showed a seventy-eight percent probability. It was heading directly for the nebula, which meant that they'd likely lose it soon due to sensor interference, an unfortunate outcome considering that two valuable agents had sacrificed themselves as bait and the Romulan still had custody of the hostages. Although killing the hostages now would serve no useful purpose, T'Riss's previous experience with both Nausican and Orion hostage takers told her that their lives would probably be forfeit nonetheless, if only because they were an inconvenience.

"Don't kick yourself about it, lad. You had only a second or two. You did your best," Jenrali said. T'Riss considered his statement for a moment. Daniel was quite capable of locking phase cannons and firing with precision within two seconds, and so Jenrali's statement was not accurate. Daniel's performance had not been the best he was capable of. He obviously knew this, for Jenrali's statement did not seem to relieve his distress. T'Riss decided that it was likely to be her own thwarted maternal instincts that made her wish that she could comfort him.

"Sehlra's gonna kill me, Jenrali. I let the Romulans take him. She made me promise not to!" Daniel's plaintive cry made him sound like a child fearful of disappointing his mother. In this case, perhaps the analogy was close to the truth. Jenrali sighed heavily.

"She'll be upset, no doubt about it, boy… but Damin volunteered. In his own way, he was a warrior. She'll honor his memory, as will we all," replied Jenrali with no sign of irony. T'Riss raised a brow. Jenrali's attitude was a far cry from the disdain he'd manifested earlier. Apparently, for an Andorian, dying at the hands of the enemy was the ultimate honor restoring experience.

"I find it unlikely that Damin is dead just yet," T'Riss put in. "She'll want to interrogate him regarding his time in Human hands, at the very least." She glanced back at the sensor readings. Sehlat was outdistancing Enterprise in the pursuit of the Romulan vessel, leaving Leirteiran a distant third. "If Sehlat can maintain sensor contact long enough to overtake the Romulan, there's a chance that Commander T'Lar may be able to disable the ship rather than destroy it, and so recover all of the hostages, including the two used as bait."

Both men glanced back at her. Jenrali smiled and shook his head.

"How much of a chance?" Daniel wanted to know.

"Given the fact that the usual Romulan response to being disabled is self-destruction," T'Riss replied in a forthright manner, "I would estimate the probability at between point zero two five and point zero two seven percent."

#

Llahir materialized in a very familiar brig. There was a copper smell to the air, the cuffs hanging on the back wall of the cell were stained with greenish-brown spatters, and he was capable of naming every instrument to be found within the small locked cabinet mounted on the bulkhead just outside the cell door. Damin, who'd been transported with him, took one look around them and then retreated to one corner with a look of deep concentration on his face. There were no guards in evidence. Llahir activated his homing beacon per protocol.

"Come here, Vulcan," ordered Damin. Llahir sighed. He was still unaccustomed to taking orders from someone who looked like a pampered child, but Damin had insisted on being placed in command of the mission as a condition of his participation. Since the Betazoid/Romulan crossbreed's unique genetic makeup caused a detectable variance in biosignature which was impossible to duplicate on such short notice, Llahir had agreed. He approached the corner where the boy was curled in a fetal ball, knees to chest, staring at empty space in front of him, and stood over him, puzzled. Abruptly, Damin grabbed his wrist and pulled him down face to face. As soon as the telepath made skin to skin contact, Llahir felt a presence in his mind. He winced as pain lanced through his skull.

"_By the Holy Rings, are you always this hard to link with?"_ groused a voice in his head.

"Ahh!" gasped Llahir aloud, grabbing for his temple with his free hand.

"_Silence! We're being monitored! Just think what you want to say, but fall on the floor first and close your eyes, as if I'd just stunned you,"_ said the voice. Damin's gaze met his. The telepath's pupil-less night-black eyes seemed to bore into his katra. Llahir had half-expected something like this from a telepath, but he'd anticipated some warning at the very least. He obeyed anyway, his soldierly instincts taking precedence, and slumped to the floor with his eyes closed.

"_Excellent. Stay there. Don't move, no matter what happens, until I say so. You've got to be removed as a threat or they'll separate us, and I'll need your help soon."_

Llahir gathered his thoughts and then projected them as best he could while lying as if dead on the cold metal deckplates. "_WHAT SORT OF HELP?"_ He felt the Betazoid recoil.

"_No need to try so hard! " _He sensed frustration_. "Hasn't anyone trained you to communicate with a telepath?"_

"_The skill was not a requirement for a mission involving undercover work with non-telepaths,"_ Llahir returned with less effort but considerable resignation. _"Unlike other Vulcans, I have no telepathic ability. The difficulty you are experiencing is not unexpected."_ It was the same difficulty, Llahir reflected, that had always dogged him. His anomaly was related to the birth trauma which had also resulted in his "gift" for forgetting nothing, and one reason, aside from his eidetic memory, that he'd been chosen for the undercover mission. A Vulcan incapable of a betrothal bond had no one at home to miss him if he failed to return.

"_Understood,"_ returned Damin, _"Just reply as you're doing now and we should have no further difficulty communicating when in physical contact with each other. The main problem I'm anticipating is that unless I take complete control of your mind, I won't be able to communicate with you telepathically without touching you, so our signal must be verbal for you to retain the independence we need. You'll know the signal when you hear it. Meanwhile, here's the plan…"_

#

"So, the source of the nebula's signal interference is radiation. Why can't we compensate for that?" asked Malcolm Reed in a puzzled voice. He ran fingers into his hair and scratched his scalp while studying the readouts on the table display in the tactical room. He was scruffy looking and exhausted, but no less so than anyone else in the room, and still looked delectable to Hoshi Sato.

"The radiation levels fluctuate at unpredictable intervals. They're a random phenomenon generated by natural sources," she explained. "The computer can't compensate because there's no pattern to follow."

"So, when the Romulan ship gets close enough to the nebula, we'll lose our ability to detect its cloak and there's nothing we can do about it," summarized Commander Tucker in a bleak voice.

"The Sehlat's ahead of us. They might reach the Romulan ship before that happens," put in Hoshi.

"And do what? Attack the Romulan ship? Destroy it?" protested Malcolm. "Even if the hostages are still on the freighter, the Tellarite ship's well within the blast zone of the raptor's warp core while under tow, and I certainly wouldn't put it past this Romulan captain to bring the hostages aboard her vessel to prevent us from destroying it. " His frustration was obvious. No one had expected that the Romulan would limit her maneuverability in combat by going in with the freighter in tow—but then, no one had expected her to use two cloaked shuttles as decoys, either.

"Both of the volunteers are carrying concealed homing beacons. If one of them can get free of the cloak and activate his beacon we might find him…assuming we can get through the nebula's interference," Hoshi ventured.

"And so we should do an intensive search for the homing beacons…" announced a cool voice. Commander T'Pol entered the room wearing the same standard issue coverall she'd been wearing for the fourteen hours since that morning's briefing, a surprising change of wardrobe which had the entire crew talking. "At the same time, we will continue to pursue the cloaked Romulan vessel for as long as we can. That is all we can do at the present time." Her summary made the situation sound simple.

Hoshi avoided her gaze. The whole Romulan/Vulcan issue was a confusing one. On the one hand, Hoshi felt guilty about hiding things from her captain, strategically important things which might make a difference should the Romulans actually go to war with Earth. On the other hand, worry over possibly destroying diplomatic ties between Earth and Vulcan gnawed at her. Humanity owed a lot to the Vulcans. They could learn so much from each other. It had been a relief to make her report as ordered by the captain, but now that Starfleet had access to it, nightmares about what the admiralty might do with the information were going to keep her up nights for a long time to come.

Commander T'Pol approached Commander Tucker, who looked about as happy as Hoshi had been to see her. "This is a copy of the report I presented to the captain a few moments ago. I thought the contents would interest you," said T'Pol. She handed a padd to Commander Tucker, who took it from her and laid it on the table beside him without looking at it.

"We're kinda busy right now, T'Pol," he told her, glancing up at the Vulcan first officer and then back down at the table, busily bringing up screens with equations on them as if the work he was doing required every bit of his attention. Hoshi knew better. So, apparently, did T'Pol, for she straightened as if offended.

"I am available to discuss the contents of my report as soon as you have the opportunity to review it, Commander," said T'Pol stiffly. Her gaze swept the room. "I will inform the captain of the change in protocol. We will begin scanning for the homing beacons immediately." Then she turned and left the room, her back ramrod straight. Once she was gone, Commander Tucker straightened and stepped back from the table. He gave Hoshi and Malcolm a tired smile.

"Guess there isn't really anything else we can do but chase a probability," he told them. He collected the padd T'Pol had given him. "I'm gonna go do my homework. Ya'll oughta go get somethin' to eat." Then he walked out.

Hoshi eyed Malcolm warily. Recent events had probably not favorably affected his opinion of her. He smiled and extended a bent elbow.

"Will you join me for dinner?" he asked. She blinked at his unexpected boldness, then tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and gave him a hesitant smile.

#

Sienae stepped into the brig, inhaling deeply at the coppery scent of blood. She walked to the locked door of the occupied holding cell and peered through the bars. As she'd expected, Damin cowered in the corner of the room. He had changed very little since she'd last seen him, and was still just as effeminately lovely as ever. It turned her stomach. With a quickly suppressed pang, she noted Llahir on the floor next to her son, motionless, his scarred face and lean muscular body familiar in every detail, prompting memories of past, more pleasurable events.

"What did you do to my first officer, Damin?" she demanded imperiously.

"He's a Vulcan spy, Mother," whined Damin. "He's one of them…they were keeping me from coming to you." His eyes filled with tears. "Please don't hurt me. I'll tell you everything."

Sienae sighed and shook her head. The boy was such a disappointment. She reached out to the wall and activated the comm.

"Sienae to Maklan."

"_Yes, Commander."_

"I have another interrogation for you. Send your best man."

"_Immediately, Commander."_

She smiled. Being obeyed without question was so gratifying. She returned to the cell door to find Damin grasping the bars with a pleading look on his face.

"Please, Mother!" he begged. "I promise I'll do anything you say!" His wide dark eyes, so like his father's and so eloquent, did his supplication for him. The tactic had worked with her when he was a child, before he'd betrayed her. Now it just made her angry.

"It's too late for that, Damin," she replied coldly. "The Tal Shiar wants you and the threat you represent eliminated." She paused, studying his evident panic, and then relented. "But…because you are my son, and as a token of the service you've given, I will grant you this. If you tell me how our pursuers are tracking us despite our cloak, I will make certain that your death is swift and relatively painless."

#

Trip sat numbly at the desk in his quarters with the padd in his hand, just staring at it. It contained a detailed account of the history of T'Pol's childhood, her education, and her service record, with clarifying notes giving details which were most certainly classified. What struck him was its length. She'd begun her career at her majority, which for a Vulcan was roughly thirty Earth years, and had to date worked as many years as he'd been alive, a career that spanned the equivalent of four university PhD's, a decade of research with the Science Directorate, and another as an active agent for the Security Directorate.

The only gap in the record was during her time with the Security Directorate. Apparently she'd had a psychological breakdown near the end of it, an event all too common among Vulcan agents forced to go against a lifetime of non-violent programming in order to obey orders. Treatment had involved the deliberate induction of amnesia after she was forced to kill a fugitive in self-defense, followed by re-assignment to a position which theoretically would not require violent behavior, and so the record during that period was limited to official documents, and was sparse.

Unfortunately, her "low risk" assignment as the assistant to the ambassador to Earth had morphed into something which had proved to be more of a challenge to her Vulcan conditioning than anything else she'd ever experienced—her assignment to Enterprise. The delayed consequences of her final mission for the Security Directorate caught his attention deeply. He spent several minutes reading and re-reading it, then considering the ramifications.

Her admission to addiction to trellium-D had been a shock. Trip wondered whether the confession would cost her her commission. He'd known about it, of course. She'd at least been truthful enough to tell him about it before their wedding. What astonished him was that she'd revealed it to the captain, right along with the details of their marriage. Trip had asked for an end to secrets. He'd gotten it in spades.

The entry buzzer sounded. Simultaneously, Trip felt the barriers that T'Pol had erected between them fall away, and he could sense her presence clearly on the other side of the door. He kept his guard up, still not trusting her seeming change of heart, but T'Pol's hesitance and fear over his response to the document she'd given him clinched it. It just didn't feel right to avoid her anymore. He got up to answer the door.

Her face was emotionless as she stepped over the threshold, but with the bond newly opened on her side, Trip had no need of any outward show of emotion. He could tell she was terrified of losing him, and he was still just angry enough at her not to say anything quite yet. He followed her in. The door shut behind them. The room was dimly lit, and her eyes shone liquidly in the semi-darkness. He paused to turn up the thermostat before turning to face her, close enough to touch. "I read it…but I guess you know that," he said.

"The captain said the same thing that you did…no more lies. It's up to him now," replied T'Pol.

"I guess it never really registered that you're so much older and more experienced than I am," he admitted. "Is that why you have so much trouble treating me like an equal partner? Am I just a kid to you?"

T'Pol raised a hand and laid it gently on his chest. "You are my husband. It's my responsibility to protect you from harm, and there are times when my experience has taught me more than you have learned just yet," she told him, "…but you are far from a child." Her words were accompanied by a wave of desire that was anything but maternal. Trip took a deep breath and dropped his barriers. The rush of emotion nearly dropped him to his knees. She caught him and steadied him until he recovered his equilibrium.

"You've got to respect me, T'Pol… stop over-protecting me. I'm a grown man…" His voice trailed off as her arms encircled his neck.

"I am well aware of that, husband," she whispered, and rose to her toes to kiss him.

The tactical alert siren was almost predictable.

"_All hands to battle stations. Command crew to the bridge." _

#

"Helm. Status." Sienae snapped.

"Approaching the protostar, Commander," the subcenturion replied. "ETA to the asteroid field seven minutes."

"Tactical. Report."

"The D'Kyr cruiser has overshot our position and remains enroute to the nebula. Disengaging the cloak within the protostar's influence appears to have been effective," answered the centurion. "The Human ship approaches, but there is no sign that they are aware of our presence."

Sienae smiled. Damin's information had been valuable after all. Perhaps she'd let him live a few days longer. She pressed the comm.

"Maklan, status report."

_"The auto-destruct mechanism aboard the transport has been engaged as you commanded, Milady. The prisoners are ready for transport." _

"Begin transporting them back to their own cargo bays," Sienae ordered. "Are you certain that they cannot escape or interfere?"

_"Confirmed, Commander,"_ Maklan replied. _"The cargo bay doors have been welded shut, with cross bars welded into place for reinforcement. There is no possible way for them to get out."_

"Excellent," she said with relish. "Notify me when transport is complete." She keyed the comm off and turned back to the helm. "When I give the command, activate the transport's engines at minimal power and send it into the heart of the asteroid field." Sienae looked down and lovingly ran her finger over the new panel insert that she had ordered installed into the arm of her chair. Giving the order wasn't enough this time. She wanted the satisfaction of actually pressing the switch.—and why not? Why should her underlings have all the fun?

"Affirmative, Commander." The helm officer checked his readings. "ETA 2.5 minutes."

The comm came to life. _"Transport complete."_ Sienae's eyes darkened.

"Helm. Launch the transport." She smiled and half turned her head toward the communications console. "Activate the internal monitors on that transport. Let's see how they are taking this." The communications officer obligingly activated a secondary viewscreen, split down the middle to show both cargo holds. From the speakers came a gradually rising hum of chaotic noise, barely distinguishable as voices. The volume slowly intensified until it reached a crescendo of panic when the erstwhile survivors discovered that they were still prisoners.

Sienae's smile curled into a snarl and she laughed silently, switching her attention back to the main screen as the transport drew closer to a particularly large rock. When the impact came, the voices on the comm blended into a single chorus of terror.

A delightful thought suddenly occurred to her. "Patch a feed of this to the brig as well," she ordered. "Make sure our guests have a good seat for the entertainment." The helm officer smothered a snicker.

"Commander, the Human ship has changed course," put in the tactical officer as he studied his console. He looked up, alarmed. "It's accelerated to warp five and is headed directly for us!"

Sienae scowled. Leave it to the Humans to ruin her fun. Now she'd have no time to do this properly. Torture just wasn't enjoyable if it was over too quickly.

#

Llahir lay motionless on the floor of the cell with his eyes closed and his teeth clenched. Damin's interrogation was progressing well. He'd told Sienae that the Humans had developed a way to detect when a cloak was in use, but were unable to use their standard long range sensors simultaneously, a reasonably believable half-truth that might just have convinced her to deactivate the ship's cloaking device, and he was now in the process of waxing poetic about the military capabilities of the Human and Vulcan vessels pursuing them, making them sound roughly ten times more powerful than they actually were. The Betazoid really was a superb liar. Unfortunately, the lantern-jawed primitive who was interrogating him didn't seem to believe in voluntary confession. His willingness to believe a statement seemed directly related to the volume of the screams which preceded it.

Llahir admired the telepath's fortitude and inventiveness, especially since he'd heard Sienae give the interrogator orders to begin with Llahir once he was done with Damin. So far, though, all the Romulan had done was walk over, kick Llahir in the ribs, and then proceed to ignore him completely when he failed to respond.

The sound of terrified screams filled the brig. They weren't Damin's. Llahir cracked one eye open. On the vid screen above the cell door the image of a half-dozen faces of varied ages and races appeared in closeup. The faces changed moment by moment, as if people were climbing atop each other, clawing at something in hysterical panic which was positioned just beneath the camera. The image shook as if the camera had been violently shaken, and the screech of buckling metal almost drowned out their cries. Llahir squinted at the screen. Between the wide-eyed faces he could see what looked like the interior of a metal walled chamber partially filled with pallets and crates. A cargo bay? When he saw the sign on the bulkhead in Tellurian, Llahir realized where the camera was.

_She's killing them. She's doing it right now_, he realized. Behind him there was a pause in Damin's moaning and whining, and Llahir was suddenly on full alert. He tensed muscles stiffened by hours lying motionless on cold metal, attempting to prepare for the signal. Damin had been correct. When it came, it was obvious.

"Now!"

The Human word was completely out of place coming from the mouth of a Betazoid in a Romulan brig. In response to it, Llahir jumped to his feet and rushed the burly Romulan interrogator, strong-arming him into the bulkhead where Damin hung in cuffs. The man's neck twisted awkwardly, his face pressed skin to skin against Damin's naked, emerald streaked chest. Llahir held him there until he stopped struggling while the shrieks continued from the vid display behind them.

"All right. Release him," said the telepath in a hoarse voice. Llahir stepped back, pulling a shock rod from the Romulan's belt as he did so. The Romulan, slightly glassy eyed and slow moving, straightened, shook his head, and then looked up at Damin. The telepath stared him down without a trace of the fear that he'd shown previously. Llahir activated the shock rod, just in case, but the Romulan ignored its crackle and proceeded to unlock Damin's cuffs without saying a word.

Damin sighed with obvious relief, rubbing his chafed wrists. "There's no need for that," he told Llahir, tipping his chin at the shock rod as he stepped away from the wall. "I've got him under control." He took the shock rod from Llahir and handed it back to the Romulan. Llahir eyed the Romulan cautiously, but Damin's control over the man appeared absolute.

They stood to one side while the Romulan unlocked the cell, and then preceded him out of the brig. Llahir took the lead, followed by Damin and then the Romulan interrogator, who held the activated shock rod as if he were herding them down the corridor to the transporter room. No one gave them a second glance.

The sub-centurion manning the transporter looked up in surprise at his shock rod bearing compatriot. "Why are you here? I've received no orders…" The Romulan under Damin's control stepped forward without hesitation and zapped the subcenturion with the shock rod, dropping him mid-sentence, and took his place at the controls.

Damin reached out and touched Llahir on the temple with his right hand. All at once, a deck plan of the Tellarite freighter and the disarm code that Damin had plucked from his torturer's mind Llahir's head. Llahir took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. There was a strong possibility that he would arrive too late to do anything but die with the hostages, but his orders had not changed, so he stepped on to the transporter pad.

#

The Aehallh's main viewscreen gave Sienae an excellent view of the asteroid field. The prow of the freighter struck the first asteroid at a glancing angle, gouging deep into the nickle-iron surface and sending fragments spinning off in every direction. The reinforced structure of the Tellarite-built hull buckled but held. Recoil bounced the ship away from the surface briefly, just far enough for momentum to rake it along the dorsal surface of the transport. She imagined shrill vibrations echoing throughout the length of the craft, sending shrieks of tortured metal to the ears of the prisoners as if the ship itself were howling in pain. Momentum carried the ship farther and farther into the asteroid field, where it rebounded like a child's ball from one asteroid to another. On the secondary screen, the view was closer still. Inside the freighter, in the cargo hold, total desperation reigned. Some of the prisoners were beating against the corridor hatch with futile fists, cursing and shouting. Others were fighting and climbing atop each other in an effort to reach the ductwork covers. Mothers huddled against the walls, trying to shield their crying children from being trampled.

Sienae grinned at the gratifying spectacle, flipped open the protective cover, and pushed the button.

#

In the freighter's engineering room the warp reactor was a looming presence that dwarfed everything else in the area. Atop the reactor a small, nondescript box had been attached. At the side of the box a light began to flash. The Vulcan instrument scanned the incoming signal and confirmed that it matched the appropriate access codes. Obediently, the limited computer brain activated the virus program in accordance with its pre-prepared instructions and released it into the main computer core. The virus program, mindless and merciless, attacked its target like the weapon that it was. Every light in the engine room went dark. The hum of the cooling units went silent. Then the whisper of the environmental air circulation fans stopped and every light on the ship went out.

In the sudden darkness, Llahir materialized. He froze for a second and listened as the computer recited, in a pre-recorded harsh Tellarite voice, "Primary anti-matter containment failure. Warp core collapse in progress. Abandon ship. Repeat. Warp core collapse in progress. Abandon ship." At the word "failure" he turned to the darkened engineering console. By the time the recording reached the second "abandon ship" he had determined that the power loss was irreversible, the containment failure inevitable. He pulled a hand-held communicator from his belt and gave Damin the signal as he ran toward the cargo bay. The freighter's two lifeboats could carry ten persons each. Perhaps he could at least get the women and children to safety.

Llahir stopped short in dismay at the cargo bay doors, hastily but effectively welded and reinforced. Panicked shouts and metallic pounding sounded faintly in the corridor. There was a viewport in the door, through which he could see the chaos, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. Then he heard a change in the recorded message resounding through the ship.

"Primary anti-matter containment failure in ten seconds…nine seconds…

#

Red lights flashed on the bridge of the Enterprise. The din of the tactical alert siren was nearly deafening. Captain Archer gestured brusquely to Lieutenant Reed, and both ceased. T'Pol exhaled in relief.

"There's nothing above a thirty percent likelihood of cloak use within sensor range, Captain, but I'm now receiving one of the homing beacons," reported Reed.

"Contact the Sehlat," ordered Archer. "Inform Commander T'Lar that we've picked up a beacon signal. Send her the coordinates." He sounded very self-satisfied, which was hardly surprising. When they'd lost the locus of high probability they'd been pursuing, T'Lar had insisted on going ahead, assuming that the Romulan had just outdistanced them. Captain Archer had been certain that it was a trick. He'd just been proven correct, and he'd never let T'Lar live it down. T'Pol was sure of it.

"Yes, sir." Hoshi Sato's response was firm and self-assured. T'Pol noted the change with satisfaction. The girl was regaining her confidence. Her resilience mitigated T'Pol's sense of guilt only slightly, however. She owed the ensign an apology, one which would have to wait until this crisis was resolved.

"Captain, I have the source of the beacon on sensors," put in Lieutenant Reed.

"On screen."

The damaged Tellarite freighter hung dark and silent on the periphery of the asteroid field, trailing debris. T'Pol ran a scan of the vessel, and the results were alarming. "I'm reading an impending warp core breach and a number of individuals in the cargo bay area," she said.

"Lock on to as many as you can and beam them aboard," ordered Archer.

#

It was unfortunate, Sienae reflected, that the freighter's loss of power had deactivated its internal monitors, depriving her of a view of the prisoners' faces in the final seconds of their pitiful lives. The external view was almost as enjoyable, however, and more exciting.

A light flared at the rear of the freighter, brighter than the glow of the proto-star. The equation was pure and simple. Every star-faring race learned it long before they left their home world. The energy locked up in a piece of matter was equal to the mass multiplied by the velocity of light... multiplied by the velocity of light once more. Raw power from a total conversion of matter into energy erupted outward and seared through the tough ship's alloys like tissue paper. The nickle-iron asteroid melted like butter under the onslaught, falling apart into softened lumps and drifting loose. The energy ball expanded and brightened until the watching Romulans felt their inner eyelids engage. Suddenly the flare quintupled in size, turning a rainbow of colors as the reaction broke through the containment barrier and engulfed the rest of the ship. An expanding fireball of burning oxygen and shattered debris flew outward in all directions.

Sienae leaned back in her seat and purred. "Helm. Set an intercept course for the Human battleship. Attack speed ahead. We have some business to finish."

#

Archer's belly clenched. He hit the comm button. "Trip. This is the captain. Did you get them all?" He waited while the universe aged around him.

"_Tucker here, Cap'n. No. We didn't. We got some of 'em. But we didn't get 'em all. Not even close to all of 'em. We did get quite a few of the kids though." _

Archer bowed his head and clenched both hands on the arms of his chair. The bridge was very quiet for a few seconds. Then T'Pol announced, "Captain. The warbird is closing to intercept us at Warp 4. Their shields are engaged and their weapons armed."

"Malcolm, lock all weapons at maximum power," Archer growled. "As soon as we are within range, commence firing at will. Hoshi, notify Sehlat and Lerteiran that we are about to engage the enemy." He turned toward the science station. "T'Pol, continue scanning in case they re-engage their cloak. Set up a continuous feed between your station and Malcolm's targeting scanners."

\"Yes, sir," she replied and got busy.

Hoshi spoke up, "Captain, I am reading a homing beacon in our cargo bay. One of the prisoners must have been aboard the transport."

"Only one?" Archer asked.

"Yes, sir," she confirmed.

"Find out which one," he told her, "and continue monitoring for the other one. Keep checking all frequencies in case they send out a distress call of some kind." Archer told Travis, "Be ready for some fancy moves, Ensign. That Romulan seems to be pretty agile."

"So are we, sir," Travis grinned and gripped the stick firmly. "This. Is. Going to be. Fun." Archer shook his head turned back to Reed.

"Status, Malcolm?"

"Locked and loaded, sir," Reed reported.

"Good," Archer told him grimly. "I never liked the way Vulcans seemed to consider themselves the self-appointed police out here, but I think I'm starting to sympathize. If those people are going to get any justice, we're the only ones who can deliver it." He stood up and walked forward until he stood just behind the helmsman's seat. "T'Pol, ask Trip to be ready for maximum demand on both engines. This is going to get ugly."

#

Damin turned from the transporter pad after sending Llahir on his way, his mind racing. Was there anything else he could do to help the hostages? He focused, sending his mind questing through the ship. Instantly he detected the sudden rise in tension. What...

"_Enterprise!"_ The Human ship had detected them and was closing at attack speed. Damin smiled in satisfaction. His ruse had worked. Llahir would have to take care of the hostages himself. There was nothing else he could do for them in any case. Beaming them back to their pen aboard the warbird would be pointless; the Romulans would just shoot them. And there was nowhere else to send them. If Llahir could not save the freighter—or Enterprise could not get them off in time—they would simply have to die. He had done everything within his power.

Now he needed to get off this ship. Damin looked speculatively between his two captives. He could only control one at a time safely. The sub-centurion obviously would be the more useful of the two. An officer would have access clearance that a mere interrogator would not. Damin eyed the interrogator. The man was a product of his training, somewhat dull and unimaginative but dutiful and efficient. He'd inflicted considerable pain on Damin in the past few hours, but Damin still couldn't find it within himself to desire the Romulan's death. He always regretted killing, even when it was necessary.

"Give me your weapons," he instructed his slave in a resigned voice. The interrogator obeyed promptly. "Good. You have done well," he praised the Romulan, who smiled gratefully. Then Damin stepped behind him and activated the shockrod, sending his slave into darkness while swiftly blocking any feedback from the telepathic link. Relieved of the need to control the man's cognitive and motor functions, Damin was free to go deeper—to the autonomic nervous system. The Romulan exhaled softly one final time as his cardiac and respiratory functions ceased. It was as painless a death as Damin could manage.

The half-Betazoid turned to the still comatose sub-centurion and placed his hand on the man's face. With little effort, he took control. Suddenly the Romulan's eyes opened. Damin stepped back and told him, "Stand up." The officer obeyed mechanically. "Lead me to the commander's personal shuttle. If we are intercepted, you will explain that I am being transferred to a more secure area on the commander's orders."

"Understood." The Romulan headed for the door.

#

"Bearing 73.4 X 54.6 X 78.1, delta 4.3+. ETA Enterprise in 6 minutes. Both ships are in battle mode," Daniel reported.

"All hands brace for battle maneuvers," Jenrali snapped.

"Not again," Daniel moaned. Suddenly the deck flipped sideways and the engines started screaming. Everyone was crushed back into their seats and Daniel felt blood beginning to rush into his head. "Do you... have to... do... EVERYTHING... at top speed...?" he forced out through the pain.

"Shut up and lock your weapons," Jenrali growled. "And don't miss this time." Daniel scowled and crawled his hands over the fire control board. He started keying in commands with quivering fingers.

T'Riss said, "Sehlat is sending for us to stand off. They wish Lerteiran to maintain position half a light year from the battlefield perimeter and stand by to reinforce as needed."

Jenrali hissed a disgusted string of tangled syllables that not even Daniel could decipher. Abruptly he cut acceleration. "Tell them we will comply, lass. Daniel, keep the gun hot and those torpedoes loaded. Circumstances change fast in a fight like this. That Romulan could be on top of us in a heartbeat."

"Understood," T'Riss responded. Then she started speaking swiftly and softly in Vulcan into the comm. Daniel caught about one word in three, being several years out of practice with his Vulcan, but she seemed to be doing what she was told. He wondered then what she would have done if Jenrali had decided not to obey the high-handed orders Commander T'Lar was issuing. They were civilian volunteers, after all, and not under Vulcan command.

"Daniel? You listening, boy?" demanded Jenrali.

"Acknowledged." Daniel told him. He got busy at his board and started broad spectrum scanning of the proto-system. "Sehlat is closing at warp 6. It looks like…" He adjusted the frequency. "Enterprise has engaged the warbird... I see weapons fire.." he paused, " I can't get a clear reading. With that _rekloq_ proto-star out there, plus the residual radiation from the freighter explosion, the sensors are royally screwed. It looks like Enterprise has taken two direct hits. She's breaking off her attack run and going into an evasive pattern. Sehlat is lining up for a strike... The Romulan is cutting out and heading this way!"

Jenrali's hands flashed and Lerteiran howled into action. Daniel felt something in his back crack and wanted to howl too, but he was too busy struggling to get a lock with the phase cannon. "Not this time, you…" Daniel had to stop and lock his teeth against a sudden flash of pain from his back. That last maneuver had definitely done something noticeable. Once this was over he would no doubt be visiting another sickbay. Vulcans were definitely bad mojo for him. He flicked a glance over at T'Riss, who was grimly hanging onto the console with both hands and continuing to monitor the comm. _"Well. Maybe not all Vulcans. Maybe."_

#

T'Lar ordered crisply, "Lock disruptors on target. Prepare to fire on my order. Helm, display position and status of allies." The dusky-skinned young helm officer obediently transferred the scan data to the main viewscreen, which produced a two dimensional map of the proto-system. T'Lar used the controls on her chair to zoom in on their local area until symbols representing the four ships, along with the freighter debris, became readily visible.

The comm officer reported, "Enterprise has engaged the Romulan, Commander. They are exchanging fire. The Humans have sustained damage but no casualties as yet. They also report moderate damage to the port nacelle of the warbird."

"Advise the Humans to break off their attack," T'Lar instructed. "We will arrive in 4.32 minutes. As soon as we open fire, they should re-engage the Romulan vessel with maximum force."

"Acknowledged." The communications officer turned to her station, leaving Verlen to look askance at his commander.

"Do you not intend to take prisoners?" he asked her in a tone just short of reproof.

T'Lar tightened her lips. "No, sub-commander. The probability of capturing live prisoners from a Romulan vessel is less than 0.1%. The risk involved in such an undertaking is unacceptable. By my assessment there is a 96% chance that we would suffer casualties while making the attempt, either through armed resistance or because our boarding party would be caught aboard when the Romulans self-destruct. Extracting prisoners via transporter is non-feasible due to the interference from Romulan shields and cloaking radiation."

Verlen looked unsatisfied. "I suspect that the Humans will make the attempt nonetheless."

"Another reason to finish this battle as swiftly and efficiently as possible," T'Lar told him. "The Humans already possess far too much information about Romulans for my comfort." The bridge rocked slightly. "Report."

"Direct hit from a Romulan torpedo," Verlen told her. "Shields are holding, no damage. The Romulans are cloaking themselves. We have a tentative target lock."

"Fire," she commanded. A green lance of disruptor fire stabbed across darkness to pierce the place the the warbird should have been... to find nothingness. T'Lar's only concession to frustration was a slight compression of her eyebrows. "Torpedos, full spread, maximum power."

This time there was a response. Of the three torpedoes sent out by Sehlat, only one made contact. But one was enough. The port nacelle on the battered old warbird, already starting to leak coolant, could not withstand a full force blast from a state-of-the-art antimatter warhead. The Romulan cloak flickered and died. Finding itself revealed for all to see, and with both Sehlat and Enterprise closing at killing speed, the Romulan executed a rolling turn and headed for the nebula at maximum impulse.

"Pursue," T'Lar ordered. "Overtake and destroy."

#

Damin fell against the bulkhead again. He grabbed a support strut and managed to keep one foot under himself, enough to stay more or less upright. His native guide was not so fortunate. Sighing once more, Damin helped him up again. _On the other hand,_ Damin mused, _I would never have made it this far without him. He will make a decent pilot, too._

Damin was fairly certain that the Vulcans would accept the Romulan and offer him asylum as an alternative to certain death if he was returned to his people. Taking him along seemed like the least Damin could do, after everything else. From the way this ship was shaking, it didn't seem likely that his mother's pride and joy was going to be holding atmosphere much longer. Damin couldn't hold back a grin at the thought. _Bye, bye, Mother dearest. Say hello to Father for me whilst he is hammering you into the ground wherever you end up in the afterlife. _

"Here," the sub-centurion stopped at a nondescript section of bulkhead that bore no marking of any kind. Damin nodded. Typical.

"Open it," he ordered. The slave reached around the perimeter of the wall section, undoing fastenings in order. Then he lifted the panel out to reveal a standard doorway. Damin motioned him forward, following the Romulan directly into the cockpit of a small Romulan shuttlecraft. The ship had been retrofitted with weapon ports and a rather luxurious head, along with a ridiculously comfortable looking bed, but the controls looked standard. When Damin opened them to check, the supply lockers seemed full and properly stocked. "Good enough," he decided. "Get us out of here."

As they strapped in Damin spared a thought for his parent on the bridge. He wanted very badly to make telepathic contact just after launch to inform her of his departure, but decided not to tempt fate. Imagination would have to be enough. Still, he would give a year's pay to see the expression on her face if she did manage to find out that he had escaped before she blew up. A beatific smile on his face, Damin clapped his slave on the shoulder and leaned back to enjoy the ride.

#

Sienae snarled, "Incompetent fool!" She backhanded the luckless helm officer out of his seat and took the controls herself. "We were invisible and still you could not avoid a simple torpedo! When this is over you will spend three days in the hands of the interrogator, I promise you."

The junior officer's shoulders hunched and he looked sick. Sienae's threats were never empty ones. Everyone on the bridge knew that exactly what was in store for the poor man, assuming that they survived the battle. He slunk away to the outer edge of the bridge and stood waiting, too frightened to ask for further orders but not daring to leave.

"The Human ship is coming around on an intercept course," her tactical officer reported. "They are attempting a weapons lock."

"Get that cloak back up!" Sienae demanded.

"Impossible," he responded tensely. "Warp drive is offline. Insufficient power. We can't energize both shields and the cloak at the same time." His commander responded with a howl of rage and sent the ship into a dizzying barrel roll that just barely evaded a searing blast from the D'kyr cruiser, which was closing in like a thrai leaping for a child's throat.

"You!" She glared at the helmsman. "Drag your worthless carcass down to engineering. Tell Pr'gil that if she doesn't get that nacelle back online in five minutes, I will personally bind her hand and foot, strip her naked and transport her along with a bottle of oil onto that Human bridge myself. Move!" The young officer jumped for the lift like his pants were on fire.

"You!" This to the tactical officer. "Plot me a course to the nebula. Best speed through the thickest part of this debris field…unless you want to choose between between Vulcan mind probes or Human torture?" Three seconds later telemetry data started appearing on her screen and Sienae triggered the impulse engine to maximum thrust. The inertial dampers started whining in protest, and even the artificial gravity field wavered a bit.

Suddenly the entire ship jumped and shuddered. "What was that?" Sienae turned to glare at the tac officer. He desperately checked his board.

"Nothing external," he assured her in a panicked voice. "One of our shuttles just launched." He pressed a button. "Your personal shuttle has just launched, Commander."

This was too much. She was up here trying to save her ungrateful crew of incompetent fools, and one of the whining cowards had dared to run away? In her shuttle! "HOW MANY?"

The tactical officer winced at the volume of her shriek and checked his sensors. His eyes widened and all color left his face. He swallowed thickly before reporting, "I read two lifesigns, Commander. One Romulan and one Betazoid."

#

Reed reported, "Near miss." The frustration in his voice was under tight control, but becoming more evident with each passing minute. "Locking phase cannon for another shot."

"Sehlat has also missed," T'Pol reported. "They have released a volley of torpedoes… ineffective. The Romulan has changed course, Captain. They appear to be attempting to reach the nebula."

"Naturally," Archer muttered. "Where else around here can they hide? Travis, plot an intercept course. We want to hit them before they reach the outer limits of the nebula. Malcolm," he turned to face the tactical station. "Be ready with a combination of phase canon and torpedoes. I want to hit them with everything we have at the same time. Their warp drive is already offline. If we can cripple their impulse drive too we may be able to stop them from initiating self-destruct."

"Unlikely, Captain," T'Pol dashed his hopes. "Romulan self-destruct mechanisms are self-contained and self-powered. It is one of their most basic tenets, death before surrender."

"Well if nothing else maybe we can grab some prisoners for Starfleet to interrogate," Archer said hopefully.

"Captain." The tone of T'Pol's voice yanked his head around. "Lerteiran has broken position and is heading for the nebula. Their course intersects the projected path of the warbird."

"Hoshi! Get me that Andorian idiot!" Archer fumed. Hoshi nodded and he ordered, "Lerteiran, this is Captain Archer aboard Enterprise. Break off your attack and return to your previous position."

"_Sorry captain, no can do."_ Daniel Johansen's voice came through. _"This is personal now. It's a matter of honor. Damin was a passenger of ours. It was our responsibility to protect him. We failed. Now we have a blood debt to pay. You understand, I'm sure."_

"Dammit!" Archer swore. "You are not equipped to face a Romulan warship. Get back behind us. Do it now. Tell your Andorian partners that we will collect their blood debt for them."

"_Not just them, Captain," _ Daniel said. _"I made a promise too. I gave my word. Like Shakespeare said, 'Take honor from me, and my life is done.' We gotta do this." _ He cut the connection.

"Those suicidal fools," Reed muttered, with a hint of reluctant admiration.

"Maximum speed, Travis," Archer ordered grimly. "We have to get there before those crazy blueskins do."

"I'm not sure we can, sir," Travis told him, "with the head start they have. Lerteiran is pretty fast and maneuverable. When it comes to threading through the asteroids and debris in this proto-system, they may be able to make better time than we can."

"Do your best," the captain sighed. "If we can't save those fools from their folly, at least we can say we tried."

#

"Weapons range in 31 seconds," Daniel reported, with his eyes glued to the control board. The fire in his back was now a blazing inferno, but he steadied his breathing the way Sensei had taught him and pushed it to the back of his mind. Pain was nothing. Only the task at hand mattered. He was peripherally aware of T'Riss shooting him occasional glances, but he ignored her. He ignored everything except the readouts in front of him and the controls under his fingers. This time he would not miss. He was not going to go down there and tell Sehlra that he had failed her a second time.

"Incoming," Jenrali stated calmly, just before the universe jerked sideways and Daniel's guts turned inside out. On the readout he could see that Jenrali had sent them in a 360 degree loop and they were coming up on the warbird from below and behind. Daniel skinned his teeth and adjusted the targeting sensors. The faint beeping increased in frequency and speed until it settled down to a steady tone, and the crosshairs locked directly on the dot in front of them.

"Locked and ready," he whispered hoarsely.

"Stand by, lad," Jenrali ordered. "Hold fire until we get a little closer. We want this one to count, because we may not get another one."

"The Romulan has just launched a shuttle," T'Riss reported in surprise. "It is moving off at a tangent, heading into the debris field."

"Let it go, lad," Jenrali told him quickly. "We can mop up later. First we kill the Mother. Then we clean out the nest."

"The Vulcans are closing fast," Daniel warned. "And Enterprise is right behind us."

"Good," Jenrali approved. "This isn't for money or glory, lad. It doesn't matter who kills them, as long as the dead get their justice."

"Sehlat is opening fire," T'Riss announced flatly.

"Do it, lad," Jenrali told him. "For Damin."

"For Sehlra," he corrected. Daniel stabbed his thumb hard on the firing button. The overload conduit that Malcolm Reed had installed between Lerteiran's impulse engine and the phase cannon suddenly glowed white hot as space-tearing gigawatts of raw power surged through the guts of the old freighter. The massive shockwave hit the phase cannon and sent a wailing reverberation through the entire craft. The cannon's emitter blasted a column of hellfire through space toward the warbird, tearing into the exposed underbelly of the Romulan ship like an ancient battering ram.

#

"The Andorian has closed to within weapons range of the Romiulan ship, commander," Verlen informed T'Lar. "Sensors indicate that they are attempting to establish a firing lock."

"Enterprise?" she asked.

"Closing at maximum impulse," Verlen reported. "ETA 45 seconds."

"Lock disruptors," T'Lar ordered. "Concentrate fire on engineering section. Attempt to disrupt their warp containment field."

"Acknowledged," Verlen answered grimly. He turned to transfer the necessary commands and initiate the deliberate termination of an entire ship full of fellow sapients. He was going to need another extended retreat at Mount Seleya after this. He always did. But even Surak allowed for the necessity of killing in self-defense or in defense of one's own. Intensely regrettable, but necessary.

Twin disruptor beams shot forward from the Sehlat's bow to rake over the dorsal hull of the warbird. They cut deep into the reinforced shielding over the engineering section and peeled away the starboard crew quarters, sending bunks, personal possessions, and charred bodies tumbling out into space. As the disruptor beams passed over the central section their green glow was brightened by the white heat of a raging phase cannon discharge – which had ripped its way up through the belly of the raptor and torn itself a passage out through the spine of the dying ship.

#

"Both ships have opened fire, Captain," T'Pol reported.

"Now Malcolm!" Archer shouted. "Everything we have!"

Reed flipped two levers and ran his hand down a series of switches, triggering them one after another. Then he reached up and pressed three buttons simultaneously. From the leading edge of Enterprise's saucer, both phase cannon opened their throats and began to roar. Torpedo tubes spat wanton destruction as swiftly as the armory crew could reload them.

Blue-white lances pierced the Romulan ship's bleeding flanks and tore them, as leopard claws rip the flanks of a dying antelope. Torpedoes struck the bow and bridge, delivering their loads of hull rupturing death. As the front of the eviscerated ship split apart, her disemboweled center boiled and melted from the tripled rage of disruptor and phase cannon fire.

From the first strike by Lerteiran's cannon to the final Enterprise torpedo was less than a full minute, not enough time for any of the five surviving crew members to reach the self-destruct mechanism, even if any of them had been conscious and able to get there. Afterward, no one was ever able to prove for certain which attacker succeeded in causing the containment failure, a moot point in any case, since all three ships were still firing when the Romulan ship blew up.

#

Sienae sat at the controls of the Aehallh's last remaining shuttle with all systems powered down and watched her ship explode. She smirked with satisfaction. It was perfect. Now she was safe. None of her cowardly crew of incompetents could betray her to the Tal Shiar or to the High Command. None would know that she had promoted and nurtured a traitor for all those years.

Now, she could simply report that her second in command was not capable of defeating three ships at once while his commander was on an away mission for the Tal Shiar. Her smirk became a grin. All she had to do now was find and kill Damin. She would be safe and free. Even if she never received another command, at least she would have bought back her life.

She checked the passive sensors. The other ships were still in the area, examining the wreckage; best to wait here, in the shadow of this asteroid. She had plenty of fuel and supplies, and her batteries were well charged. They would leave eventually. There was no particular hurry. Her grin broadened. Not even Damin knew about the remote codes embedded in her shuttle's onboard computer.

#

"Thanks, Anna." Trip took the padd and looked over the list of repairs already completed. "Looking good. Better than I expected." He grinned at her. "I knew you were angling for my job."

"Somebody's got to keep this scow running," She grinned back at him and took the padd. "I figure the lights in hydroponics will be next… either that or plumbing for the gym bathrooms. I'm guessing I'd better keep chef happy, and his herbs take priority. What do you say?"

"Oh definitely," Trip threw up his hands in mock terror. "Deprive chef of his oregano? His parsley? Are you mad, woman? Get to it." They shared a laugh and she headed out, toolkit in hand.

"_Archer to Commander Tucker."_

Trip stepped over and pressed the comm button. "Tucker here, Cap'n. What can I do for ya?"

"_Report to my quarters immediately, Commander."_ The connection clicked off. Trip stood still for a moment, considering possibilities and probabilities. He walked over to his desk and picked up a padd, blanked it, and wrote something brief. Then he walked out of Engineering, still carrying the padd.

Trip did not dawdle on the way to the captain's cabin, but he didn't hurry either. He strolled along at a steady pace, greeting people by name with a friendly smile. On rare occasions someone stopped him with a question or comment, which he always took time to respond to. By the time he reached his destination, the calming effort that he had been sending toward T'Pol was beginning to take effect. She still felt upset, though. Since she was inside the cabin with Archer, Trip felt fairly certain that he knew what the problem was. He also felt certain that he didn't give a damn anymore.

Trip pressed the annunciator button and received an immediate invitation to enter. He stepped inside to find T'Pol at attention in front of the captain's desk, while Jonathan Archer sat behind his desk in high dudgeon like a judge conducting a trial.

"Commander Tucker," Archer told him, "this is a hearing. You will present yourself at attention."

"Nope," Trip said casually, "Don't think so." He tossed the padd on the desk. "There's my resignation. I won't say that all of knowin' ya has been nice, Jon, but it sure as hell has been interestin'."

The stunned dismay that he felt through the bond from T'Pol was nothing to what he saw on Archer's face. "Trip... you..." He shook his head and his face hardened. "You're bluffing."

"No, Jon. I'm not," Trip told him in a firm voice. "We've all been through hell together. I know what this little get together is about. You're feelin' petulant because T'Pol and me didn't tell you about getting married, and maybe some other things. But if after everything we've been through together the best you can do for us is some little drumhead hearing, you can kiss my ass."

"Watch it, Mister Tucker," Archer stood up, crimson faced.

"Why?" Trip put his fists on the desk. "What are you gonna do? Court martial me? Go ahead. I've already resigned my commission. That'll make an interesting trial. We might even set a new precedent."

Captain Archer's mouth opened and closed, then he half turned away to run a hand through his hair.

"T'hyla," T'Pol grabbed his arm. "Please. Do not let this end your long friendship. I am so sorry. I…"

"Hush." He placed a finger on her lips. "You're not at fault. It takes two people to make a friendship, T'Pol. It's been a long time since there were two people putting anything into this friendship."

Archer froze. He let his hand drop. "Trip. I…" He was obviously searching for words. "I know that I haven't always been there like I wanted to be. But…"

"Give it up, Jon," Trip told him. "That's not the issue, but forget it. It doesn't matter now. Too little, too late. I'm fed up and I give up. I'm tired of it."

"Husband." T'Pol's distress was piercing him through the bond. "No. This is not acceptable. I will not permit this."

"It's not your call to make, wife," he told her gently. "This is something that's been building for a long time. I should have done this years ago."

The pain on Archer's face intensified. "What is it Trip? Look, you were right. I overreacted. I admit it. But it hurt, knowing that the two people on this ship that I trusted the most didn't respect me enough to tell me something this important."

_*****Rage. Raw, Blazing, Rage.*** **_

T'Pol recoiled a step as Trip lunged forward and slammed both hands down on the desk. Archer stood frozen in shock and stared.

"Respect?" Trip's voice was so low as to be almost inaudible. A coarse whisper stroked with sandpaper. "Respect, Jonathan Archer, is a sword with two edges, meaning it cuts in two directions. You get back what you give. How much respect have you ever given me?"

#

"I have always respected you, Trip," Archer replied indignantly. He couldn't believe the direction that this was going. When had he ever offered Trip anything but friendship? He'd even created and killed an intelligent being to keep Trip alive. "You're the best friend I've ever had, and you're the best engineer in …"

"**LIAR!"**

It cut into the air of the room like an axe, silencing everyone's breath. Porthos crawled under the bed and lay shivering.

"Secrets?" Trip finally brought his voice back to something resembling normal tone. But Archer noticed T'Pol still eyed her husband warily. A wisp of awareness from Surak's memories informed him that a Vulcan wife would be aware of more than the eye revealed. "Secrets bother you, Jon? But it doesn't bother you to keep them, does it? It bothered you that T'Pol and Hoshi bent the rules and kept a secret, doesn't it? And it bothered you that T'Pol and I kept our private business a secret. Isn't that so?"

Archer spoke carefully. "Trip. I'm the captain. There are things that I need to know. It isn't that I want to pry into your personal lives. And yes, I understand what T'Pol and Hoshi were thinking. But I needed to know those things."

Trip nodded, and even managed a grim smile. "Maybe so. But you don't mind bending the rules when it suits your purposes, do you? You didn't think I needed to know anything about what was going on the time you abandoned your post and bailed out with T'Pol and Travis, did you?" Archer flushed and opened his mouth, only to have Trip roll over him. "What do you think would have happened if Starfleet command had tried to contact you while you were off on that jaunt? Hmm?" He turned to look at T'Pol, who dropped her eyes.

"I didn't…" Archer tried to say.

"Wouldn't I have looked like a prize fool though?" Trip chuckled derisively. "When Admiral Forrest asked me where you were and I had to admit that the captain, and the first officer, and the chief helmsman had all grabbed a shuttlepod and took off for parts unknown and left me holding the sack?" Archer gave up trying to interrupt and listened stoically. What could he possibly say? Trip had obviously been nursing his hurts for years, storing them for this moment.

Trip raised his voice to falsetto and continued, "Oh, I'm so terribly sorry, Admiral. No, I am afraid that the captain did not tell me where he was going. Why? Well, sir, he did not see fit to divulge to me the purpose of his trip. Why, yes, sir. I was supposed to be left in charge. No, sir. Oh no, Admiral, the captain made no mention of when he might be back. I'm sorry sir, I really can't say why the captain did not leave his dog in command instead of me." Trip glared. Archer gritted his teeth and exhaled. Trip didn't sound finished, not by a long shot.

"When that Vulcan captain showed up I had to cover your ass, Jon," he snarled. "If I hadn't, if he had gone back and reported you were gone, they would have hauled you in on charges, don't think they wouldn't. And when you all got back, did anyone figure that good old Trip deserved the courtesy of any kind of explanation? Hell, no!"

Trip stopped to breathe hard for a moment. T'Pol moved forward hesitantly and touched his arm. Archer looked at the floor, trying to come up with a way to express his regret. Trip was right. They'd taken advantage of him. T'Pol spoke. "Charles. The blame is mine. The mission was mine. The captain agreed to help me because I did not trust my own judgment after what happened to me the last time. Please do not hold this against him. I am the one who requested that he keep this secret. He was honoring my request."

Trip looked at her. "I know that now. I read the report. Finally. I understand that you didn't trust me enough to tell me, but he had no excuse for putting me in that position. There are limits. He could at least have let me know where he was going, if not why. And there were other times."

"What other times, Trip?" Archer kept his voice very calm. "You said that you should have done this years ago. I wish that you had. I wish that I had known this was inside you years ago, when I might have been able to stop things from reaching this point."

"You wouldn't have." Trip told him bluntly. "It would never have occurred to you. Like the time with the Xyrillians. Biggest joke of the year, right? Good old Trip. Only man in history that could manage to get himself knocked up. Everyone on the ship that knew about it was giggling." He turned to his wife. "Even you thought it was funny, didn't ya, T'Pol? Don't lie. I remember the way you teased me about the sausages to make me puke." She looked distressed.

"Funny, wasn't it, Cap'n? Everyone laughed. You sure laughed it up. So did Phlox, and Malcolm. 'Cept, ya know, I wonder. What if a female crew member had been impregnated against her will and without her knowledge. Would it have been so funny then?" Archer flinched. "Would you and Phlox have been laughing at her and making jokes all the time at her expense, Cap'n?" He waited. **"WOULD YOU?"**

Archer couldn't meet his eyes. "No." Once again, Trip was correct. But why hadn't he said anything? He'd always been so easy-going. The teasing had been part of their relationship, or so Archer had thought.

"And if that baby inside her wasn't even her own flesh and blood, if it was entirely alien and didn't have one speck of her DNA, if it was actually just a parasite that was feeding on her flesh and draining her blood, would you be so gung ho about trying to force her to accept responsibility for raising it? Cap-tain?" He stepped closer and glared into Archer's eyes.

Archer took a deep breath. There was really only one thing to say. "I'm sorry, Trip. I didn't realize…"

"Sorry doesn't get it," Trip told him. "Sorry only matters when you intend to change your ways. You couldn't change your ways if you wanted to. It's who you are. And I have put up with enough disrespect to last me a dozen lifetimes. Disrespect from you, from my wife, from anyone else. I'm done with it. One way or another, I am done with it. Do you both hear me? Done!"

Archer nodded, then sat heavily back down in his seat again, all thought of a formal military hearing completely gone in the face of his erstwhile best friend's fury. He rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger while Trip, still standing next to T'Pol, glared at him from across his desk with his arms crossed defiantly over his chest. T'Pol stared in evident shock at Trip. At her husband, Archer thought numbly. His gaze fell on the padd with Trip's resignation letter on it. He picked it up, and with two swipes of his finger deleted the file.

"I won't accept your resignation while you're this upset," he said quietly, handing the padd back to Trip. When Trip didn't reach to take it, he sighed and laid it back on the desk. "You have no idea how much it grieves me to know that you think I don't respect you, Trip…but I can see how you might feel that way based on my past behavior." He sat back in his chair and studied the two of them standing side-by-side. Neither of them said anything. T'Pol looked a little shell-shocked by Trip's outburst. Trip looked like he'd said his piece. Archer was grateful that he at least seemed willing to stick around to hear what his captain had to say for himself.

"You're right. I have to admit it. Even though I never meant to, I took both of you for granted," Archer told them. His gaze fixed on Trip's closed countenance. "And even though an apology isn't enough, it's all I have, Trip. I've always had to have feelings spelled out for me. That's probably one of the reasons why I'm still single." His lips twisted wryly. "It's not an excuse, I know…but it's a reason. My last girlfriend told me I was ten times more clueless than the average male. Apparently that's the case whether I'm dealing with friends or lovers." T'Pol raised a brow, but Trip's expression didn't change.

"I'm outta here before I say anything else I might regret," the engineer said curtly. "I'll be back in the morning." He grabbed the empty padd, turned on his heel, and walked out. T'Pol's gaze followed him out, but she stayed. She turned back to Archer and resumed parade rest. Archer shook his head.

"I never even had the chance to tell him that I sent your report 'Eyes Only' to Starfleet Intelligence. The content will be handled so confidentially that I doubt some of it will even make it to the admiralty unless there's a need to know. The news of your marriage is a minor detail compared to the bomb this Romulan issue is going to drop, and I have the distinct feeling that Starfleet Command will suddenly be highly motivated to keep everyone involved happy and close to home. You two will be able to write your own ticket as long as you tell Starfleet Intelligence…and no one else…everything they want to know."

T'Pol's eyes widened. Then she tipped her head in understanding. "I see," she replied thoughtfully.

"Will you talk to him? Try to make him see sense?" Archer asked her plaintively.

After a pause, she said in a regretful voice, "I will try to speak with him, Captain, but, as you can see, he and I are not on the best of terms at the moment."

Archer's lips twisted ruefully. "Maybe not, but even I can see that he likes you a hell of a lot better than he likes me."

#

Daniel heard Sehlra climbing the ladder. He groaned silently to himself. What could he say? How could he face her? He leaned on his elbows and buried his face in his hands. _Like a kid hiding your head under the covers, huh?_ he jibed at himself. But he still couldn't make himself meet Sehlra's eyes when she stepped off the ladder into the control room. Jenrali had left to get some food and rest, leaving Daniel and T'Riss on watch. It wasn't like Sehlra to leave the engine room unattended so soon after a fight. He just knew what she had come for. He wanted to hide behind the console.

The footsteps stopped. Daniel heard T'Riss turn in her seat, but no one spoke. Odd. The room was silent. What were they doing?

"Daniel." Sehlra sounded tired and sad. Unwillingly, but unable to avoid it any longer, Daniel dropped his hands and looked at her.

"I'm sorry." His voice cracked in spite of himself. He blinked quickly, hoping desperately that he wasn't going to disgrace himself with watery eyes.

Sehlra's antenna twisted in puzzlement. "What for?" She brushed his hair off his forehead. "You need another haircut already." She smiled wanly. "If I didn't keep my trimmers dull working on you, people would accuse us of shipping with a Tellarite."

"I…" He looked down. "I am sorry. I didn't…" he swallowed. "I wasn't quick enough to…" He choked. "I promised you that I wouldn't let them…" he stopped and bent his head down, clenching both fists on his knee until the knuckles were white. _"I'm sorry!"_ he cried out.

Sehlra sighed. Daniel felt her take his head between her hands and turn his face up to look at her. "You have never failed me, Daniel," she told him with quiet sincerity. "Damin knew the risk he was taking. We all knew the risk. There is nothing certain in battle. You know that. You have been in enough fights yourself to know that, even if you are not a warrior. You did the best you could. That is all anyone can do."

"I should have been able to stop them!" Daniel insisted. "I should have been fast enough. I should have been good enough!"

"The only person on this ship who expects Daniel to be perfect is Daniel," Sehlra told him firmly. "You put too much on yourself, boy. You always have for as long as I have known you. To pursue excellence is a noble thing. But there is a line you must not cross, and you have crossed it. You refuse to admit that there are any limits to what you can accomplish. You are mortal, boy. You are flesh and blood. You can only do what flesh and blood can do. You did your best, and you did better than anyone else on this ship could have done. That's all I want to hear about it. Understand?"

Daniel closed his eyes so he couldn't see the pain in hers. "Yes, ma'am."

"Now, I want you to go eat something and rest. T'Riss and I will stand watch for four hours, then you can come and relieve us. All right?"

Daniel nodded. He made a move to stand up and Sehlra stepped back to give him room. As Daniel placed a hand on the back of his chair and levered himself halfway to his feet, a bolt of liquid fire flashed up his back, into the back of his skull and down through his hips into both legs. He gasped and hit the floor, trying to draw breath through the agony.

"Daniel!" To his surprise, the voice belonged to T'Riss. She knelt beside him. "Are you injured? What is the difficulty?"

He forced out in disgust, "My back. I think I pulled a muscle during one of those maneuvers." He tried to brace his hands on the floor and raise himself, but gave up instantly when his back screamed again. "Crap."

"I have told that old fool not to play games like that," Sehlra complained. "Humans aren't designed to take those kinds of accelerations."

"Sehlll-ra," Daniel protested. "Earth gravity is higher than Andorian. It isn't a matter of Humans not being tough enough. It's a matter of me letting myself get as soft as a marshmallow lately." He flinched and locked his teeth together when the two women picked him up and placed him back in his chair. "Thanks."

"Earth gravity may be higher," Sehlra persisted, "but you are just not as limber, boy. I have seen it. You have the muscle, but your joints won't bend properly. You aren't as stiff as a Vulcan, I grant you. But you aren't far behind."

"I guess that's the way it works," Daniel allowed. "The heavier the gravity, the stronger the muscles and the more rigid the frame they're fastened to."

"Logical," T'Riss raised an eyebrow. "I had not considered it in those terms, but it seems reasonable."

"You didn't seem to have any trouble," Daniel noted, with a trace of resentment.

"I am somewhat smaller," T'Riss told him. "The restraint harness, even on its tightest adjustment, could not prevent me from being shifted in my seat. Instead of being twisted and wrenched, my entire body was being moved around. I believe I did pick up several bruises."

"That's it," Sehlra pronounced. "I am having a talk with Jenrali about his joyriding. This is not an iceskimmer. Either he calms down or he can pay for some new inertial dampeners out of his own share. That's the bottom line. Now let's get you down to your quarters. T'Riss," she ordered, "you take the bottom and steady his hips on the ladder. I will reach through from the top and take some of his weight at the shoulders."

"Perhaps it would be simpler if I carried him," T'Riss suggested. Daniel groaned.

"Please," he begged. "This is humiliating enough."

By the time he got to his quarters, Daniel wished he had just given in and let her carry him. He couldn't stop the moan as they eased him out of his shirt and boots. When Sehlra reached matter-of factly for his belt, Daniel grabbed her hands. "Huh-uh."

"What, boy?" He looked at T'Riss and tried to turn his back.

"Mr. Johansen," T'Riss told him. "If you are concerned about offending me, please set your mind at rest. I have, after all, seen unclad males of many different species."

"Uh..." He flushed. "That's not it. We... Humans don't..."

"Oh by the Mother's womb," Sehlra said impatiently. "Humans have a taboo against nudity, girl. Turn your back until we get his pants off and get him under the blanket." T'Riss looked curious but complied.

"If there is a taboo," she asked, thirsting for information, "why does it not apply to you?"

"Um, she's the ship's medic," Daniel explained. "The rules are different."

"Ah," T'Riss nodded. "I see. However, may I point out that I am currently attempting to offer medical assistance? It is also true that you have seen me in a nearly nude condition."

"I." Daniel's brain stuck. "Well. It's."

"She has you there, boy," Sehlra chuckled. "Here, girl. Come over here." T'Riss joned her at the side of Daniel's bunk and looked down. "You see there, where the skin on his back is a little bit pinker than the rest? Put your finger on it gently." Daniel winced. "Gently, I said. That's the one. Feel how much softer it is? Extra blood is flowing into it, causing the swelling. Human circulation is very high pressure, much higher than yours or mine. We need to dilate those blood vessels to bring down the pressure on his spine and relieve the pain," she explained.

"While I go get some compresses and ointment, I want you to apply pressure here, and here," Sehrlra demonstrated. "Not steady, use a rubbing motion like this. Very lightly and gently. The nerves along his back in this area are very sensitive, even a little too much pressure will cause a lot of pain. Be very careful down here, this is where his kidneys are located. Even a moderate amount of pressure here can cause serious damage. Do you think you can do that?"

Daniel listened in consternation at first. But as T'Riss began to massage his back his misgivings faded, along with the discomfort. The tension of the last few hours loosened out of his back and neck, allowing him to sink more comfortably into the pillow. "This is helping," he murmured. "Your hands are nice and warm."

"My natural body temperature is higher than yours," T'Riss informed him.

"I know," Daniel sighed. "Your hands are better than a compress. But if this is uncomfortable for you..."

"I will manage," T'Riss told him. "Healer Tyvek has provided me with medication to assist me in maintaining equilibrium until such time as I am able to re-establish full control through meditation alone."

Daniel blinked in surprise. Vulcan nerve pills? He had never heard of such a thing, but it stood to reason that some Vulcans would need them. "I hope things here aren't making it any harder for you."

"To the contrary," she told him. "My time aboard has been both educational and intriguing." He snorted in amusement but did not reply. Her hands were so warm, unexpectedly soft, and yet strong. As T'Riss continued her careful stroking, Daniel reflected drowsily that being massaged by a beautiful woman was certainly the last way he'd expected to end this day. Then he gradually sank into sleep.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8a

**The Lerteiran Chronicles**

**Episode Eight: Cat and Mouse**

**By Blacknblue and Distracted**

**Genre: Action Adventure and romance**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Disclaimer: We don't own the Star Trek universe. We just go there to play. Honest. We do, however, own our original characters and story ideas. You are welcome to borrow them, as long as no money changes hands. If we can't make anything from this, nobody else gets to either. **

**Summary: Things heat up between T'Riss and Daniel on Lerteiran and Damin's hiding place is discovered. Meanwhile, Trip may soon be leaving Starfleet, T'Pol has concerns about Captain Archer, and Llahir is on Enterprise. **

**########################################################**

Sehlra made a brisk swing through the cabin she shared with Jenrali and smacked his leg. "Get up, old man. I need to apply some first aid for bruises and damaged muscles, so get up and cover the con while I work on the crew. You injured them, so you get to help."

She turned and headed back out into the passageway before Jenrali had time to do more than sit up and look confused, slowing her pace once ship's business was taken care of. No point in going to all this trouble getting the girl a chance at being alone with Daniel only to interrupt them right away. She smiled fondly and wistfully. Too late for her, perhaps, but at least the youngsters could have a chance at happiness. _They're so much alike. _Sehlra slid the door to Lerteiran's tiny sickbay open and stepped inside._ Both of them are so earnest and dutiful, so innocently determined to do the right thing. _She chuckled_. As cute as a pair of newborn lutum pups. _

The medication locker was crammed full. She squatted and started shuffling supplies around. "Antacids... analgesics… antibiotics... anti-inflammatories. Good. Now, let me see..." She muttered to herself as she pulled out an armload of pills, potions, creams, and ampoules and shoved them into a canvas bag. "Daniel is going to be on light duty for at least two days. I should make that old fool scrub my injectors himself. That would teach him..." She shook her head in exasperation.

Finally finished with her medication run, Sehlra stood up with a satchel full and headed back toward Daniel's cabin. She paused at the ladder and noted with satisfaction that Jenrali was obediently on watch in the control room, then continued on her way. She approached Daniel's quarters in stealth mode and stopped at the door to listen. Hearing nothing, she tapped gently with her fingertips and opened the door quietly.

T'Riss still knelt beside Daniel's bunk, but her hands were still. Daniel was face down and breathing steadily without moving. At Sehlra's questioning glance T'Riss whispered, "I believe that he may be asleep."

"Almost," Daniel murmured. He turned his head over to look at T'Riss, smiling sleepily. "Thanks for the back rub. Nothing's felt that good in a long time." Sehlra could see that he looked far more relaxed, and the swollen area on his back had already gone down slightly. She smiled conspiratorially at T'Riss, who looked puzzled. Sehlra sighed.

"Here," Sehlra handed her a tube. "Spread some of this over the swelling and the surrounding area. Use a thick coat and rub it gently until it soaks into his skin. No need to wear gloves," she assured the Vulcan girl, "I checked. It's non-toxic to Vulcans."

T'Riss obediently took the ointment and began to apply it. Daniel hissed faintly when it touched his skin and she stopped abruptly. "Am I hurting you?" she asked. The concern in the girl's voice made Sehlra bite her lip. _"Useful acquaintances" my wrinkled blue ass, _she thought, amused_. _

"Nah." He smiled. "It's just cold and it shocked me a little. Sorry if I worried you." Sehlra turned away to hide a smirk.

"Perhaps if you rubbed it between your palms first, before you applied it?" she suggested. T'Riss nodded and took the advice. Sehlra watched Daniel settle down and close his eyes when the young Vulcan started spreading the medicine over his skin. The older woman sighed. _If the girl had any sense she could have the boy on a leash within a half-cycle. As it is, I'm going to need to explain everything to her step by step. _

Aloud, Sehlra asked, "How is that feeling, Daniel? Better?" She walked over to his desk and started sorting through the sack of remaining medicines.

"Mmm," he breathed. "Oh, yeah..." T'Riss suddenly stopped. Daniel's eyes popped open. "I mean…" Daniel swallowed and looked warily at T'Riss. "I mean, the pain is better. It's helping my back a lot. But like I said, I don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

Sehlra turned to look curiously at the girl. T'Riss was watching Daniel with a look of wary uncertainty, holding her hands in the air above his skin as if she couldn't decide what to do with them. "I…," The Vulcan said shakily. "I am not uncomfortable," she told them, obviously lying. Moving very deliberately, T'Riss slowly lowered her hands to Daniel's back and resumed stroking and spreading the ointment. "It is quite thick, isn't it?" she noted to Sehlra in a strained voiced. "It seems to be soaking in rather slowly."

Of course it was, since Sehlra had deliberately chosen the thickest, oiliest cream that she had available. "Just maintain a constant motion," she instructed, "His skin will absorb it eventually. In fact it wouldn't hurt to spread it out over his entire back, to soothe the discomfort and expedite circulation."

T'Riss set her jaw stubbornly and lengthened her strokes, smearing the cream in broad swathes across Daniel's back from his neck all the way down to the top of his buttocks. Sehlra heard the boy's breathing quicken and fought to keep a straight face. This was too easy. After all this time without a regular partner, poor Daniel would probably have been willing to marry a Tellarite if she agreed to shave. All they had to do was overcome his shyness.

Sehlra looked at T'Riss and her brows drew together. Why was the girl looking so tense? A chance to run her hands over a well built young male shouldn't cause a healthy girl such distress._ Ah, _Sehlra reflected._ Maybe her own reactions are making her uncomfortable. _Well, she could help that problem, at least a little. She walked over to the bed and told the pair of them, "That's enough for now. Let the rest of it soak in on its own. Now let me see those bruises you mentioned, girl. Undo the top of your coverall."

T'Riss obediently started undoing the fastening at her collar without bothering to move from the side of the bunk. Daniel's eyes snapped shut and his head pivoted toward the wall as if he were trying to protect his eyes from a warp core breach. Sehlra felt like smacking him. Humans and their idiotic, tight minded taboos. Any boy his age, especially one from a race as perpetually horny as Humans, should relish the chance to see a lovely girl in her underclothing. Instead, Daniel hid his eyes as if he thought some supreme being would strike him for peeking. She sighed. She was going to have to force the issue.

T'Riss slid her arms free from the sleeves of her coveralls and Sehlra gasped in surprise at the dark green mottled bruises covering a large percentage of the girl's exposed skin. She squatted down at the side of the bed, grunting in anger. "Why didn't you say something earlier, girl? Let me look at that collarbone." She gently applied pressure to various points around the Vulcan's shoulders and ribs, then sat back on her heels. "You don't seem to have any broken bones, but it was a near thing. I'm going to go up to the control room and give Jenrali the back of my hand. Meanwhile, sit still..." Sehlra stood up and marched back to the desk and her stockpile of potions.

T'Riss looked discomfited and tentatively began to re-don her garment. "It is not serious enough to warrant conflict," she began.

"Better not argue the point," Daniel advised her quietly. He started to turn his head around and caught himself half way. "When she's in this kind of mood, don't provoke her," he continued in a pained voice.

"That's real good advice," Sehlra said, stalking back with a jar in her hand, "Don't provoke me. Get that coverall back off, girl. We aren't nearly done here," she snapped. "You, Daniel, can you move now?"

"Uh," he hesitated and tried to sit up. "I can move a little bit, thanks to T'Riss." He offered a bashful smile.

"Good, then you're going to return the favor while I deal with that old fool," Sehlra informed him in a no-nonsense tone. "Here, take this." She handed him the jar. "Spread some of this on those bruises, every single one of them. Don't miss a single one or you will answer to me, do you hear me?" She glared and he wilted.

"Yes, ma'am," he told her in a subdued voice. He took the jar reluctantly and cast an apologetic look at T'Riss, who looked intimidated but wisely remained silent.

"I don't give an iceworm's casting about your stupid taboos, Daniel," Sehlra growled. "She's hurt, and she helped you. Now it's your turn to help her. Hear me?"

"Yes, ma'am." Meekly.

"And, you," she told T'Riss. "Hold still and let him apply it. Daniel's a good lad. He won't go anywhere that you don't invite him to go." She used her back to block Daniel's view of the significant look that she shot T'Riss when she said this. The Vulcan girl blinked and looked puzzled again. Sehlra closed her eyes in disbelief. _I need to have a long talk with that girl. _"Get started. Use the entire jar," she told them. "If it strains Daniel's back to sit up that much," she added, "you might need to add another coat of the ointment afterward. When you're both done, both of you eat something and get some rest. You're both on light duty tomorrow."

Sehlra stood and watched Daniel tentatively dip his finger into the jar and start gingerly dabbing a spot on T'Riss's neck. "She's not going to bite you, Daniel," Sehlra snorted. "Are you, T'Riss? Do you plan to bite Daniel?" The boy's face turned crimson and the girl's ear tips darkened to emerald.

"Sehlra!" Daniel protested, giving her a dirty look.

"I have no intention of offering harm of any kind," T'Riss murmured.

"I suppose that depends on whether you consider a bite to be harmful," Sehlra grinned. "It would probably work better if she stretched out on the bunk," Sehlra pointed out helpfully. "That way you can rest beside her, Daniel, and make it easier on your back. And there's no hurry. For once, we have time. I will see you both in the morning."

Sehlra closed the door behind her and allowed a triumphant grin to spread over her face. If they lasted all night in a situation like this with nothing happening, she would need to give both of them a complete physical and double check their nutritional intake.

As she walked down the corridor, the thought of nutritional intake set her stomach to growling, and she realized that she hadn't eaten in—well, she didn't remember. Entirely too long from the sounds her gut was making. For some reason, she'd had no appetite lately.

_You're a self-deluding idiot, old woman, _she told herself._ You know very well what's affecting your appetite. _ It was the same thing that was keeping her from sleeping well, distracting her when she was trying to focus on work, and making her snippy with Jenrali and the crew. Admitting it to herself didn't help much, but she was too embarrassed by the whole situation to talk about it with anyone else. She walked into the galley and opened the cabinet, searching for something even remotely appetizing.

_I knew him for less than a week, and now he's dead. He was beautiful, I'll grant him that, but I'll be cursed if I'll let grief over losing some two-credit whore affect me like this. _

Sehlra knew as her anger surged that she was being profoundly unfair to Damin's memory, but her choices were either to be furious with him or to cry her eyes out over him, and she didn't do tears. As she made this resolution, she caught sight of a misshapen lump wrapped in multicolored silk tucked in the back of the cabinet and her vision blurred. She felt the waterworks begin, running freely down her face.

_You're an Andorian guardsman, for the Mother's sake! Pull yourself together!_

She swiped both cheeks peremptorily with one sleeve and then reached for the chocolate.

#

"Grapples are holding, sir. I've powered down everything except the cloak and life support." The young Romulan sub-centurion had thus far cooperated freely—enthusiastically, in fact—with Damin's instructions. Of course, the fact that Damin could regain complete control of his mind at any moment was likely influencing his decision.

"Excellent, Dhael. Go eat and sleep now. I will wake you in eight hours." The young man smiled briefly and rose to follow Damin's direction without argument, seeming perfectly content to let him run the show. All Damin had had to do was to strand him hundreds of light years from every other member of his race and then take charge. Simple. No mind control was needed, at least not anymore. The sub-centurion even seemed grateful that he'd been the one chosen to accompany Damin in his bid for freedom. At least he was alive.

Damin checked the small shuttle's limited short-range sensors again, searching for signs that the _Sehlat's _crew had discovered his subterfuge. His tiny shuttle was hidden within the ring of her hull, perpendicular to the warp nacelle. He'd taken a chance approaching the Vulcan vessel closely enough to attach to her hull, but had risked the possibility of discovery to reach his hiding place because his little ship lacked warp capability. He had no intention of being left behind when the victorious trio of vessels left the remote system to return to more populated space. Fortunately, the Humans' ingenious cloak detection program was relatively simple to foil once he'd programmed the shuttle's onboard computer to avoid the use of repetitive hologram images. His creative tinkering had decreased the versatility of his tiny ship's cloak, but he didn't need versatility. His ship just needed to look like a section of the D'Kyr cruiser's hull, a feat which fortunately required neither versatility nor extensive computing power. Now that his safe refuge was established, it was time to move on to a more challenging problem—his mother.

_Why no scream of rage at the end, Mother? You had time to understand your fate. Instead, I felt your triumph_.

Damin had been sorely tempted to give himself up once the battle was done as the easiest way to avoid being stranded, but he'd refrained—because of that triumph—and had gotten creative instead. Revealing himself would make him a target, not only of the Humans, Vulcans and Andorians, who were admittedly at this point unlikely to destroy him if his identity were known to them, but also of anyone else who happened to be in the system. The triumph he'd felt made no sense given what he knew of his mother's personality, but after pondering multiple probabilities he'd decided on one thing that did make sense. His mother was still alive.

She was hiding somewhere in this system, probably also in a small cloaked shuttle equipped only with an impulse engine, and She was hunting him, armed with a single small disruptor cannon, useful only at very close range, just as his was. Alone, in his best estimation, he would have had less than a thirty percent chance of destroying Her before She destroyed him, given her superior marksmanship and piloting skills, but he would have ended up dead either way without sufficient power or supplies to make it to an inhabited system on impulse power alone. Now that he was attached to his unwitting ally, though, the tables were turned. He smiled, settling comfortably in his chair.

_Just try it, Mother. I dare you._

#

_Don't think._

It was becoming a mantra. Trip reached out and made a minor adjustment to one control. The graphic display showing the coolant flow to the port manifold smoothed back out. He returned to passively sweeping his eyes over the board, never stopping to examine any particular readout, never resting, simply moving from point to point by conditioned reflex, always sensitive to any variation in the proper order of things under his command.

_Under my command..._

From here, on the platform at the top of the reactor, the entire ship was truly under his command. He could spread his fingers and command the power of life and death over everyone and everything aboard the ship and nearby space. The captain might sit in his fancy chair on the bridge and give the orders, but the captain couldn't actually do anything, not anything at all, without Trip's permission.

But Trip – he needed no one's permission. With a whim, with a flick of his finger, he could drive the ship to maximum warp or bring it to a dead stop. He could brighten the ship to become a beacon in the eternal darkness of space, or kill every light and turn _Enterprise _into a stygian tomb. He could freeze ice out of the air and turn the decks into skating rinks, or sear the officer's quarters and turn the captain's cabin into a barbeque pit. Or if he decided to be sadistic, he could cause the captain's toilet to back up and bury him neck deep in sewage. He could fire every weapon the ship had, or disable the cannons and torpedoes to leave her a sitting duck. It was all his to command. It was the only place where he had complete control and complete respect…

_Don't think_. Thehumming throb of the reactor vibrated up through the soles of his boots._ Don't think_. He'd been standing right here when she'd told him that she didn't have time for him anymore because she was too busy finding herself.

_Don't thinkdon'tthink._ He reached for the matter/anti-matter intermix monitor and keyed in the command for a diagnostic. The sensors activated and began feeding data back to the screen in front of him. Trip squinted hard, gripping the edge of the console until his fingertips numbed. _Don't think. _She was coming. He could tell through the bond._ Don't think. _

"Good evening, Commander," Anderson's voice drifted up.

"Good evening, Crewman," T'Pol answered. Her footsteps came closer. She was climbing the ladder. _Don't think. _She stopped beside him. _ Don' ' 'tspeak. _Trip kept his eyes on the control board. The diagnostic completed itself. Everything read nominal, just as he had known it would.

"Trip." She almost never called him that in public. Even in private it was almost always 'Charles' or 'husband' or 't'hyla'. She'd called him that when she thought he was leaving to go back to _Columbia. _He remembered her calling him that when Elizabeth…_ DON'T THINK._

The reactor hummed and it soothed him. He felt it soaking up from the bottoms of his feet, rising through his legs and back. It felt good and right. It didn't hurt. His engines never turned on him. He always knew what to expect from his engines. He could trust his engines. They might not care about him, but they never lied to him either. They never used him, or mocked him, or threw him away, or made him feel irrelevant.

She touched his arm. That was all right, his sleeve protected him. She had been careful to teach him about shields, and insisted that he practice. They worked too. He had pretty good shields for a Human; she said so herself. If T'Pol was willing to admit that he was good at something he must be _damn _good at it. He could keep her out. She was trying to probe through his shields, without actually forcing her way through. But it wasn't working. She would have to touch his skin to do it. She wasn't going to do that.

"I grieve that I have caused you pain."

He blanked his mind. Nothing existed but the hum of the engine and the feel of the vibration. Trip closed his eyes. The smell of lubricant was strong enough to overpower her scent. With his mind opened only to humming darkness, he could settle himself deep inside and filter out everything else. _Don't speak or think. Listen. Smell the the grease and the metal. Feel the sound of the engines. _She was speaking again, but he refused to hear the words. In his mind her voice sank into the hum of the engines and was swallowed. After a while she stopped. The pressure on his arm stopped. For a second he relaxed, thinking he'd succeeded in freeing himself from her presence, and then he felt warm fingers resting on the back of his neck. Abruptly, the soothing engine vibrations vanished, replaced by silence. He clenched his teeth and opened his eyes. She stood there outlined by the harsh glare of the white space, regarding him with a distressed look on her face, an expression she'd never permit herself to wear in the presence of anyone but him.

"T'Pol," he asked her tiredly. "In all the years we have known each other, have I ever walked up and smacked you when you were trying to meditate?"

T'Pol looked uncertain. "You have routinely contacted me while I was meditating. I do not understand."

Trip nodded. "But when you block me out, which happens a lot, do I take it upon myself to march into your quarters and physically force you into paying attention? Or do I grant you the courtesy and respect of waiting until you are ready for me?"

She winced. She paused and looked away briefly before returning her gaze to his. Trip shook his head. Then he mentally turned his focus outward and broke their connection. He opened his eyes to the real world and looked at T'Pol, who stood beside him on the platform looking worried.

"I apologize for interrupting you." He blinked at that. She never apologized that quickly. "You have every right to be upset," T'Pol continued, "I should not have interrupted you, but you would not acknowledge my presence, and you left so abruptly, and you were so angry..."

He felt it through the bond. She was scared again. It wasn't as bad as before, but the fear was back. Trip sagged and sighed. "I'm not mad at you, T'Pol," he told her in an exhausted voice. "Hurt, yeah. Disappointed. But I'm not mad. I know you're trying."

T'Pol looked down, still uncomfortable but he felt a trickle of faint relief coming through. She took a deep breath, looked thoughtful for a moment, and met his eyes again. "You are attempting to calm yourself… to reach a meditative state by immersing yourself in the sounds and smells of your engine," she said, as if she'd just realized it. He nodded. She was definitely trying. "Making a career changing decision such as the one you are contemplating requires clarity of thought."

His resignation. She was talking about his resignation. His lips twisted in a bitter imitation of a smile. "I haven't gotten to that yet. I'm just trying to get a little peace first."

She nodded. "I realize that you must decide what is best for you, but you need to know that I intend to come with you if you decide to leave. We are married now, and still have much to work out between us. It would be illogical for me to remain in Starfleet without you."

Trip shook his head. "You don't have to flush your career for me, T'Pol."

"I would not be doing it for you," she replied, as if that were the end of it. "In any case, the sooner you are able to reach the proper state of mind, the more sound your decision will be." She hesitated. "Before we leave, if we leave, I have something very important to discuss with you regarding ship's operations. But you are in no condition to deal with it logically at this time."

"What about ship's operations?" Trip snapped. "Engineering is in good shape. We can get underway whenever Jon wants to. The rest of the repairs are not critical…nothing that can't be done in transit. Hess could take over my job tomorrow."

"That is not the issue. Since your confrontation with the captain I have been thinking about…" she paused, as if searching for words, "…the captain's fitness for command. I cannot in good conscience leave without settling this matter first."

"What about it? Just because he's a lousy friend doesn't mean he's not fit for command."

T'Pol seemed uncertain. "We can discuss this after you have cleared your mind. I am concerned that lingering vestiges of Surak's katra may be interfering with the captain's ability to interface with his Human crewmates."

Trip considered it. Could that explain Jon's recent behavior? Was an old Vulcan ghost driving him crazy? Then he firmly squelched the budding hope. No excuses.

"All right," Trip told her. "I'll meet you in your quarters in about an hour."

As T'Pol turned and started climbing down the access ladder, Trip closed his eyes with a sigh and rubbed his eyelids. The woman had a real gift for giving him a headache.

#

"Prep this patient for emergency surgery," Phlox ordered. The Vulcan technician jumped to obey and the Denobulan turned to the next person in line. Since _Enterprise_ was carrying the rescued hostages but had only one physician, while _Sehlat _had a full medical staff and a well equipped sickbay but nowhere to put a huge influx of patients, Dr. Phlox and Healer Tyvek had quickly convinced their respective captains to pool their resources. Cargo bays one and two were being put to work as makeshift field hospitals. Most of the victims had radiation burns, along with some injuries from flying debris which had been sustained by the last ones transported out.

Phlox, being the healer with the most broad-based experience in multi-species medicine, was placed in charge of triage while the Vulcan Healers and Healers-in-Training worked desperately to save as many people as they could. Everyone else available on both crews who had any training at all, even in basic first aid, had been drafted to assist Phlox with the minor injuries and to do scut work. So far they had lost three people, including one infant. Phlox was too tired to waste breath cursing, even if it had suited his nature, and of course the Vulcans would never consider such a thing, but he privately admitted to himself that the language being used by his Human shipmates actually did help relieve a little of the stress, however briefly.

"Doctor," a Vulcan man called out. "Your presence is required immediately." Phlox took in a deep lungful and headed over. The Vulcan in question was kneeling beside a Tellarite woman who appeared to be in late term pregnancy. As Phlox arrived the Vulcan looked up and the doctor stopped in surprise. He had never seen a Vulcan with battle scars all over his face before.

"I believe that she is going into labor," the Vulcan explained. Phlox shook off his distraction and knelt to examine his patient. He put his hands lightly on her abdomen, and was rewarded with a shriek as it tightened beneath his fingers.

"I am afraid that you are correct, Mr…?"

"My name is Llahir," the man told him with a slight smile, causing Phlox to blink in surprise.

"Well, Mr. Llahir, if you would be so good as to assist me in carrying this woman's stretcher over to the privacy area, we will see about bringing this little one into the light."

#

T'Riss's skin was feverishly warm under Daniel's palms as he spread the thick healing balm over her ribs. He moved slowly and carefully, keeping his hands where she could see them when they weren't in contact with her skin. He was quite frankly surprised that she was sitting still for his ministrations. He'd thought for sure that as soon as Sehlra left the room the Vulcan girl would have come up with a plausible reason for him to keep his hands to himself. He bit his lip as he worked, trying to keep his attention focused on what he was doing and not on how his body was responding. Spending time half-dressed and alone with an incredibly beautiful girl who was quite possibly unstable enough, and certainly strong enough, to seriously maim him without even breaking a sweat was not what he'd expected to be doing this evening. But Sehlra was a sadist. There was no other explanation for it.

"You okay?" he inquired again, a bit breathlessly.

"It is not necessary for you to continue to ask me that question. I will let you know if I wish you to stop," T'Riss replied. She seemed utterly calm, with no hint of the turmoil he would have expected.

_Maybe she's just a good actress, _he thought, a bit offended by her total lack of response. He swallowed once, preparing himself, and then rose to his knees on the bed behind her, moving forward so that she sat between his thighs, facing away from him. Her bare back was millimeters from the skin of his chest, but she maintained her posture stiffly, allowing only incidental contact. He ran a balm coated hand around to her abdomen, which was warm, velvety soft, smooth as silk — and entirely covered with green-brown bruising. Her toned muscles twitched in reflex as he spread medication up to the seam of her undergarment's halter top and rubbed it in.

Daniel hesitated before lifting his hands to smear the ointment over the front of her shoulders and collarbone. When his fingers dropped onto the upper surface of her breasts she tensed and he stopped immediately. Then he loaded his fingers with the thick ointment again and cautiously headed toward her navel. He tried to ignore the aromatic odor of the balm, mixed with something subtly but identifiably female, but it filled his nostrils. He felt like it was imprinting itself in his brain, putting his libido into overdrive. Daniel gritted his teeth and grimaced at his own overactive imagination. _Down, boy. She's not Orion. There's no excuse._

His fingers traveled lower, spreading the pungent-smelling stuff gently from hipbone to hipbone above the lower half of her undergarment in one swipe. He paused. There it was; a hitch in her breathing, and then a shaky inhalation. He bit his tongue and began to rub the balm in with gentle circular motions. T'Riss exhaled, almost a sigh, and relaxed limply against him, wrenching a swiftly suppressed groan from him as her bare back settled against his chest and the curve of her shapely rear fitted itself snugly between his legs. She froze at the contact. He stopped breathing, stopped rubbing. It was impossible for him to hide the state he'd gotten into with her pressed up against him like that.

_I'm dead now. Somebody just shoot me, _was Daniel's despairing thought. The room was silent save for the sound of breathing, and he was certain now that hers was just as labored as his had become. He closed his eyes, willing his body to listen to reason for a change. Not surprisingly, his back was hardly hurting at all now, or at least he didn't care whether it was hurting or not.

"You are physically aroused to a painful degree by this situation, and yet you restrain yourself," she said finally, softly and with her gaze fixed on the wall in front of her. "Why? I have not asked you to stop." Her voice shook slightly. He wasn't certain whether it was from desire or fear. From his vantage point he couldn't even see her face. All he could see was the back of her sleek head, her pulse pounding furiously in the curve of her slender neck. With his arms around her he felt her chest heaving as if she were running a marathon. He wasn't much better off.

"You haven't asked me to start, either," he murmured into her ear, breathlessly. "But I thought we were just doing first aid. Is that an invitation?" His hands left her abdomen to trace lightly along her arms. T'Riss flinched, but she didn't pull away.

"Before tonight, I was certain that I would never again be able to bear being touched by a man," she admitted harshly. Her fingers gripped the bedclothes on either side of his knees as if she were grabbing on to her sanity with the sheets.

"You're not turned on. You're scared to death," he realized, appalled.

"Not to the extent that I expected," she told him with clinical detachment. "Your manner is…reassuring." She shivered spasmodically, and wrapped her arms around her bare torso. He'd never seen goose bumps on a Vulcan before.

"Here. Let's get you warm," he said, pulling away from her for a second to collect the blanket folded on the foot of his bed. He wrapped it snugly around her and then stretched out on the bed beside her with a groan. She turned to look down at him, her dark eyes wide. She looked so young and fragile.

Daniel moved over, offering her the space next to him. "You'll be warmer here until that liniment soaks in," he said with a diffident smile. She tilted her head questioningly, with a suspicious expression. "C'mon. Lie down. I'll behave myself, and you can practice tolerating being so close to a smelly Human," he joked. She raised a brow, and then complied. He wrapped his arms comfortably around her. His annoying basal urges were much less insistent now that his protective instincts had kicked in. Sometimes she reminded him of his friend Stern's baby sister — but only sometimes.

"I do not find your odor at all objectionable, you know," she said finally, in a sleepy voice.

Daniel chuckled and pulled her a bit closer against his chest, just to make sure that she was warm enough. "I'm gratified to hear it. Most Vulcans that I've met think Humans reek." He closed his eyes. With the top of her head tucked under his chin he could smell the subtly herbal scent of her shampoo competing with the pungent odor of the liniment. Compliments were no doubt wasted on a Vulcan, but he decided to give it a shot anyway.

"Your hair smells nice."

She didn't answer. Knowing Vulcans, Daniel didn't expect her to. He exhaled, finally relaxing. They fit together like two matching spoons, as if they'd been designed to do so. Despite this, though, and in spite of his exhaustion, his curiosity prevented him from just shutting up and going to sleep.

"Are you going to tell me what just happened?" He kept his voice as soft and unthreatening as possible.

"We applied medication to each other," she told him in a matter-of-fact tone.

He chuckled softly. "That wasn't what I was asking and you know it. Don't try to hide behind Vulcan literalism. I spent enough time working on your homeworld to see through that particular dodge. It won't work on me."

T'Riss went silent again. He could almost hear the wheels turning as she considered his words, and she didn't seem comfortable any more. _Maybe she's threatened by the fact that I know more about Vulcans than she knows about Humans, _he thought. Or more likely she was still afraid of him. That had to stop. He released her and sat up.

"Look at me, T'Riss," he insisted. She turned over toward him, still wrapped in her blanket, with an uncertain expression. "I swear to you, by all I hold sacred, that I never have and never will take an unwilling woman," Daniel told her. Her eyes widened at his emphatic tone, searching his face. He tried to project reassurance and sincerity. "Humans are not Orion, or Klingon, no matter what your High Command says about us. Rape is a capital crime to us. On most Human colony worlds, the punishment for rape is death. Among my people, the Boomers, the penalty is for the rapist to be stripped naked and flushed out an airlock." Daniel winced at the expression of incredulous disgust on her face and then smiled apologetically. "Anyway, my point is that you're safe with me. I will never willingly hurt you."

"I do not fear you," she said, swallowing hard and lifting her chin.

"Good." Daniel smiled. "That's what I was shooting for." He cocked his head at T'Riss and stared her down. Her bravado held; she didn't look away. "So tell me, then. Why did your mouth say yes…or at least not say no…a few minutes ago while your body not only said no, but 'Hell, no'?"

"I did not…" She stopped, an uncomfortable pause. Then she exhaled heavily, as if she were giving in reluctantly. "I will not lie to you. I originally intended to permit you to sate your lust on my body."

"Uh..." Daniel had no idea what to say to that. He was tempted to chuckle at her choice of wording, but got the distinct impression that it wouldn't go over well. "Thanks?" He watched her look away in obvious discomfort, and tried to explain with a placating smile. "That's not what my people would call a romantic overture, no offense intended," he said. She still wouldn't look at him. He reclined on one elbow as his fatigue began to get the better of him, and stifled a yawn behind one hand. This was beginning to look like it was going to be a long evening—interesting, but long. After he'd gotten settled, he asked the obvious question.

"Okay…so why would you want to let me do that?"

"I owe you a debt of honor." T'Riss looked at him again. "I have caused you injury and pain. I have disturbed your life's path in ways that can never be truly mended."

_There's definitely something wrong with her, _he decided, watching the raw emotion play fleetingly across her face. Fear, regret, shame—they were all there for anyone to see, and anyone who knew anything about normal Vulcans would know that they didn't belong there.

"Are you telling me that you were willing to have sex with me out of guilt? After what happened to you? That's... that's just... _illogical!" _

"It is unlikely that you would wish to do anything that has not already been done to me. Furthermore, I have come to trust your intentions. I also have the strength to defend myself, and I am not under duress this time," replied T'Riss, in a calm and reasonable tone, as if she were discussing something utterly commonplace instead of something so unbelievably _un-Vulcan. _

Daniel gazed at her, completely confused. "That makes no sense. It defies reason and contradicts everything I thought I ever knew about Vulcans. There has to be something else going on here. Either you're insane and you need to go back to your ship for treatment, or you're not telling me something."

She stiffened next to him. "I did not lie to you."

"Maybe not," Daniel said, "but you didn't tell me all of the truth either. Vulcans _don't do this,_"he insisted vehemently, "Vulcans simply do not sleep around. You might be able to pull that story on someone who didn't spend years living on Vulcan, but I'm not gonna buy it. No sane Vulcan would volunteer to mate with someone just to pay an honor debt. Die for them, yes. Mate with them? No."

T'Riss closed her eyes and exhaled. "Sehlra advised me that you might be resistant to the idea of accepting me as a mate. She suggested that persuading you to desire me sexually was the most appropriate way to initiate matters."

Daniel rolled over onto his back and covered his eyes with his forearm. "So that's what the old man was going on about in the gym."

"I don't understand."

"Jenrali was feeling me out," Daniel explained. He raised his arm and saw T'Riss looking utterly bewildered. He sighed. "It means he was conducting a stealth interrogation." Comprehension lit up her face. "He kept asking me about girls I used to know, and what kind of woman I wanted, and if I would consider someone who wasn't Human, and if I thought you looked good. Now I see what he was doing." Daniel dropped his arm and stared at the ceiling with a resigned expression. "If Sehlra is in on it, there will be no peace on board anywhere."

"If the prospect is abhorrent to you…," T'Riss began.

"I didn't say that." Daniel interrupted her. "But I don't understand why you would be interested in me. Why a Human? Why me, of all Humans? What gives? I just…" He interrupted himself in mid-word with a jaw cracking yawn, "don' unnerstan…" He rubbed his eyes with both forefingers, trying his best to stay alert, and half-smiled at her in apology. Then the import of her statement hit him. Vulcans didn't take casual mates. She was talking about marriage.

The idea was initially shocking. He'd never seriously considered the possibility of marriage to a non-Human before his recent conversation with Jenrali. The possibility of marriage to anyone had barely hit his radar—and to a knock-out like T'Riss? The idea was unbelievable, titillating, and more than a little scary.

T'Riss's expression softened. If she had been Human he would have taken her expression for sympathy. "Is it so difficult for you to accept that I might choose you over the other options available to me?"

Daniel's sleep-fogged brain processed her statement slowly, but he finally got it. To a Vulcan she was damaged goods. No Vulcan man would perceive her the way he did—flawed, yet resilient, intelligent, and utterly beautiful—someone to be admired for her strengths rather than shunned for her weaknesses. Her options among Vulcans were limited.

"You should sleep if you are to be of any use tomorrow," said T'Riss in an unusually gentle voice. "I have multiple reasons for desiring you as a mate, Daniel. I will explain them in the morning. It is my hope that I will be able to provide you with equally valid reasons to accept me. I believe that you will find my logic compelling…but we can address these matters later," she told him, placing her fingertips on his shoulder, "You are exhausted. Roll over and allow me to rub your back again." Daniel blinked blurrily at her, and then turned over, seeing no reason to tell her no. He smiled sleepily once his cheek hit the pillow and her warm hands got to work.

"I could get used to this," he admitted, already half asleep.

#

Senek stepped into the cabin he shared with Raijiin for the first time in nearly a week. The scent of the perfume she habitually wore was oddly reassuring, a taste of the familiar even after such a short time away. He ignored the feeling. Growing too accustomed to her presence would be counterproductive.

Raijiin sat at the desk in the common room dressed in a ship's coverall without insignia, her attention fully captured by something that she was reading from the padd in her lap. Her facial bruises were healed, her face was bare of makeup, and her blonde hair was tied back in a no-nonsense knot on the back of her head. She looked up as he entered and gave him what appeared to be a genuinely warm smile of welcome. Even with her appearance transformed as it was by her new circumstances, he had to consciously refrain from smiling back. Her ability to charm never ceased to intrigue him, but then, her gifts in that regard were why the Security Directorate had ordered him to recruit her in the first place.

"You're back!" She looked him over from head to foot. "They don't seem to have done any damage, or did they use starvation and neural shock sticks instead of fists this time?" she asked knowingly. Senek had to remind himself that his agent trainee had experienced the more punitive side of Human hospitality during her last stay aboard _Enterprise,_ deservedly so, after the crimes she'd committed.

"Nothing worse than boredom, actually. I don't believe the First Officer dislikes me quite as much as she dislikes you," he replied with dry humor. He glanced at the padd she was reading. It appeared to be Agent Llahir's debriefing report.

"Did he finish before we lost him?" he asked, indicating the report with a jerk of his chin. Her eyes widened, and then moistened. He sensed grief.

"I believe so. I haven't quite finished reviewing it yet. He had an amazing memory," Raijiin replied with a sad half-smile.

"Had?" Senek repeated, puzzled, and then realized what she'd assumed by his statement. _Ah. She's developed some sort of emotional attachment to the man already._ It shouldn't have surprised him. "He's not dead," he clarified. "The Humans have him." He paused. "Or at least, he's on their ship. They have no idea who he is yet, I don't think. Otherwise we'd be hearing from their captain, I'm sure. He'd want to gloat."

"We should demand his return," asserted Raijiin. "He is Vulcan. They have no right to him."

"We'll get him back eventually, unless someone tells them who he really is," countered Senek. "If they believe him to be a refugee, they will feel no need to interrogate him. And we have the upper hand, because the telepath will soon be in our custody as well."

"Damin? Wasn't he aboard the Romulan vessel when it was destroyed?"

"The Humans believe so, but they have no telepaths aboard with any significant abilities." Raijiin just looked at him with a puzzled expression. "Close your eyes," ordered Senek. Raijiin did so immediately, in response to the conditioning still firmly in place within her mind. Senek extended a hand, and the meld was complete.

_Search the ship. What do you feel? _He followed her questing mind, allowing her to take the lead. Telepathic searches such as these required tremendous concentration and training to hone the necessary skills. She almost missed the indications of a shielded telepathic mind in the near vicinity, but before he could call her attention to the oversight, she'd honed in on it.

_There. He's just outside the hull. Only one telepath I've ever met has the power to so completely shield his mind. I can't make a positive identification, but I don't see how it could be anyone else. I can't determine his intentions._

Senek removed his hand, severing the meld. Raijiin regarded him seriously. "Should we try to contact him?" she asked.

Senek had been asking himself the same question ever since he'd become aware of the Betazoid's location. "Contacting him by conventional means risks exposing him to whoever he is hiding from, and I believe that he may have an excellent reason to remain hidden," he mused aloud, "but there may be another way."

#

Sienae woke from a cat nap in the shuttle's pilot's chair to an insistent beep from the console in front of her. Instantly alert, she pulled up the sensor readings. The three ships were headed out of the system together at impulse, and based on the input the computer was receiving from the locator beacon implanted in the shuttle Damin had stolen—_my own more comfortable, personal shuttle_, she thought in annoyance—Damin was leaving with them. His speed matched theirs exactly, and his extreme proximity to the Vulcan cruiser implied that he'd somehow attached himself to it.

_Clever boy, but irritating. _

She brought up a computer summary of sensor data. Damin had no doubt realized already what her sensor readings of the previous several hours were telling her now. This system received virtually no traffic. Sitting here in an impulse-only shuttle waiting for a warp capable vessel to come along was an exercise in futility. She powered up the engines and set a course to overtake the only warp capable vessels she would likely see in weeks before they went to warp and left her behind. That accomplished, she set her mind to coming up with a plan to get to a more populated system. It was difficult to focus on the problem at hand with images of what she planned to do to Damin in payment for his betrayal flashing through her head. Just his imagined screams brought a smile to her face. After the embarrassment he'd caused her by fleeing the Tal Shiar, his complete lack of appreciation for everything she'd done for him, and his unmitigated gall in voluntarily participating in her ship's destruction, the filthy little ungrateful worm deserved to be flayed alive—slowly.

_It might be premature to kill the boy immediately when I find him, though_, she mused_. He has obviously allied himself with these Vulcans, and so will be useful. He could convince them with his skills that I am an ally… _Her imagination took flight, and she allowed it to take control, ignoring both logic and consequences._ Damin would never dare to defy me. He'll easily gain control over these weak minded Vulcans, and then I'll take the place of this ship's commander… I can easily pass as a Vulcan with a bit of minor cosmetic surgery… _And once she'd taken her proper place in the command chair she'd have the freedom to give Damin what he deserved before establishing a foothold on some remote planet in need of an authority figure.

Setting the autopilot, she rose and went to the medical kit set into the wall. It was sparse. The proper response to an incapacitating injury was honorable self-destruction, but there were a few bandages in it, an antiseptic, and a monomolecular scalpel. Intended for the debridement of necrotic tissue from non-fatal wounds, it would suit her purpose admirably.

#

T'Pol opened her eyes at the sound of the door chime. She sat on a meditation cushion in the center of the room, dressed in nothing but her silken robe, with a pale pink pillar candle burning in front of her. She had waited over three hours for her husband to arrive. It was a disconcertingly long wait and only exacerbated her concern over his mental state. He'd been in a great deal of emotional distress when she'd last seen him. Unfortunately, his reaction to her overture had done nothing to improve her own emotional equilibrium. Positive reassurance was definitely in order, for both of them.

Trip had his shields down enough to make it obvious that he was the one at the door. After a brief pause to consider her options, T'Pol decided to deal with the issue of reassurance before discussing the captain's shortcomings. She shrugged the robe from her shoulders so that it pooled in her lap and around her hips before announcing, "Enter". The expression on her husband's face was almost comical when he stepped into the room. He hurriedly closed the door behind him and then turned back toward her with his arms crossed over his chest. As T'Pol had expected, the annoyance on his face was closely followed by an expression of reluctant admiration.

"Ummm…are you sure it's safe to be leavin' the door unlocked if you're gonna sit there like that?" he asked, obviously amused in spite of himself.

"I was not sitting here 'like that'," she replied. "I was waiting for you." Then she stood up, leaving the robe where it lay on the floor. His mouth broadened into a disbelieving smile, and he shook his head, chuckling as she walked toward him.

"Why am I thinkin' that story about the captain was just a tall tale to get me in here? What's gotten into you, woman?"

She reached for the collar of his coverall and began unfastening it. "My concerns about the captain are quite genuine, I assure you, but they are longstanding and not of immediate concern. We can discuss them later." She stretched up and kissed him. "Trip, please hear me. You are my husband and my bonded mate. No one and nothing can ever be more important to me than you are." Her distress flickered over her face for an instant. "In truth, I was distraught when you left the captain's quarters and I felt impelled to find you – to confirm for myself that you were recovering. I know that I was wrong to disturb you and I swear that I will not do it again."

"Shh" He laid a finger over her lips. "I'm sorry for bein' mean as a snake and takin' it out on you. I had no call to go off on you like that in the captain's cabin. I was throwing a temper tantrum and I deserve an ass whuppin' for some of the things I said."

"No." She stroked her hand along his cheek. "You spoke the truth as you see it. I could tell that much. We must always have truth between us if we are to make this work. You were correct, Trip. There can be no more secrets. Truth, even painful truth, is our only chance to build our lives together. We both have much to learn."

Trip hugged her and buried his face against her neck. T'Pol could sense that grieving anger had left his bones aching, and fatigue was dragging him downward. T'Pol ran her fingers through his hair and gently guided him backward to stand near the edge of the bunk.

"Your impression that I lack respect and appreciation for you is a more pressing matter," she said, pulling his coverall from either shoulder. She pulled it down to his waist, and then knelt to pull it farther. He stood there looking down at her with a puzzled expression.

"What does gettin' us both naked have to do with any of that?"

"You've been on duty for over eighteen hours continuously in the past twenty four. If I am to demonstrate to you how much I respect and appreciate you, I thought it would be best to begin in the shower," T'Pol replied from her position kneeling before him. She tapped one of his feet and he lifted it so that she could remove his boot. For once, he didn't argue with her, but when her hands made contact with the skin of his bare ankle, instead of the anticipation she expected she sensed disappointment.

T'Pol sat back on her heels and looked up at him, less confident now of the proper course of action. What had she done wrong? He looked down at her with a wry smile on his stubbled face, dressed in nothing but sweat-stained stretch blue cotton, then shook his head and chuckled again. Stepping out of the coverall pooled around his ankles, he retrieved her robe from the floor and silently helped her to put it back on. All the while, T'Pol's mind raced through every possible explanation for why he was refusing her and found none that were reassuring. Trip sat on her bed and patted the mattress beside him. T'Pol joined him with trepidation.

"Look, T'Pol," he began sincerely. "Far be it from me to discourage you from doin'…," he paused, scratching his head and smiling in a bemused fashion, "…whatever it is you're doin' here… at some point in the future when I'm not so frazzled I can't think straight, but can't you see that your behavior tonight is just another example of what I've been talking about?"

T'Pol considered his statement for a moment in puzzlement, and then did her best to clarify her actions. "I was attempting to show you how much I…"

"You were treating me like a horny teenager who'll drop everything to have sex… on a night when I need to make one of the most important decisions of my career," Trip clarified.. "Did you think you could distract me so that I'd forget about resigning my commission?"

_He believes that I am manipulating him_, T'Pol realized. She reached out with one hand and laid it on his bare forearm, opening her shields wide. He winced at the flood of emotion, but kept his eyes locked with hers.

"It was not my intention to distract you from anything of importance, nor am I trying to influence your decision, but I was worried about your state of mind," she explained in a level voice. "It is clear that you are grieving the loss of your friendship with Jonathan Archer. In the past you have dealt with grief by overworking yourself to the point of utter exhaustion. Although I do have things I need to discuss with you, I also admit to an ulterior motive in luring you from Engineering. I have no desire to see you work yourself sick again." Memories of the walking death-like state he'd managed to get himself into twice previously, first in the Expanse and then again after their daughter's death, intruded themselves. Trip winced again. T'Pol sent a silent apology, gripping his arm. "I am truly sorry if you feel that because I am trying to spare you this that I lack respect for you."

Trip sighed and closed his eyes. He covered her hand where it rested on his forearm with his own hand. She could sense both his apology and his resignation. She waited for him to speak. He opened his eyes and gave her a wry smile.

"Okay, T'Pol. You win. I won't go back to Engineering tonight. Now, tell me what's going on with the captain."

T'Pol told him, "My concerns cannot be stated simply. I need your opinion as a command level officer. You have far more experience in Human personal interaction than I do."

"Concerns?" he echoed. He stared back at her in consternation. "What the hell are you talking about? Just because I'm pissed at him doesn't make him a bad captain."

"I am concerned that Captain Archer may not be entirely sane. His personality has changed radically since his encounter with the katra of Surak, and his behavior is growing more and more erratic. If he were Vulcan I would be concerned for his mental stability," replied T'Pol.

Trip stared at her. "I guess ol' Surak might be causing Jon to act a little more tight-assed than usual," he finally admitted. "But he's been leanin' this way for a long time. He started gettin' this way as soon as Daniels told him he was gonna be some kind of junior godling to future generations, and he's been gettin' worse ever since. The Expanse put the polish on him and made him impossible to live with."

"The captain suffered severe stress during our time in the Delphic Expanse," T'Pol reminded him reproachfully.

"No frickin' shit! So did everyone else," Trip snapped. "Do you see the rest of us walking around treating people the way Jon does? No, you don't." He subsided, breathing hard.

"I am still not well equipped to understand the nuances of Human relations," T'Pol admitted. "But since our return from Vulcan, even Mr. Reed seems unhappy with the captain's lack of personal connection to the crew."

"Say what?" Trip stared with hanging jaw. "Malcolm? He's... but..."

"Since Mr. Reed has always shown a firm dedication to the principles of discipline and good order, I was surprised when he recently approached me with his concerns." T'Pol firmed her chin and went on. "After that conversation I made a point of observing the captain over the course of several days. I am concerned that his behavior patterns are increasingly tending to imitate those of a Vulcan commander rather than a Human one. For example, how long has it been since you've heard the captain make a joke?"

Trip brow wrinkled in thought. "You've got a point. I don't remember. Of course, I've been avoiding him lately. But he walks around with a stone face all the time nowadays. Never laughs, hardly ever even smiles."

"He no longer invites anyone to dine with him," T'Pol said. "Never. In fact, most of his meals are served in his quarters or his ready room. His schedule has become increasingly precise. He reports for duty at 05:27 precisely. He goes off duty, barring emergencies, at 20:05 precisely. He reports to the gym at 20:11 precisely. He follows his standard exercise regimen and returns to his quarters at 20:29 plus or minus two minutes."

Trip shook his head. "Jon was always on time for work, but off duty he never bothered much with schedules." He stared at her. "You sure of this?"

"Quite sure," she told him. "I have also noticed that his ancient High Vulcan has been improving, but there is no one aboard with whom he could have been practicing. I have not been helping him, nor has Hoshi."

Trip's shoulders hunched and he shivered. "That's startin' to sound spooky. Yer makin' me nervous here."

"Then you concur that the situation merits concern?" she asked him. "I confess to feeling relief. I was uncertain whether my worries were appropriate."

"They're appropriate all right," he told her grimly. "Only one thing to do. Phlox is gonna have to run him through the mill, including a full brain scan. And we might even need to get one of those Vulcan healers over here for a meld. You know, one of the melders we escorted out here from Vulcan."

"You are no doubt correct," T'Pol said worriedly. "But what if the captain refuses?"

"Then you just gotta play hardball," Trip told her. "File a 2.5.9 on him. Like you said, the whole ship and crew is at stake here." He looked at the expression on her face. "Don't worry. I'll stand with you when you do it."

A rush of relief that she would have died before admitting aloud washed through T'Pol. She seized her husband in an embrace and gave him a deep Human kiss of gratitude.

#

Daniel's quiet, regular respirations were the only sounds in the room. T'Riss eased her body from beneath his arm and rolled silently out of bed, leaving him embracing the blanket like a lover. Shivering, she collected her coverall from the floor and slipped it on. She considered leaving him to his slumber and returning to her cabin, but, recalling his nearly immobile state earlier in the evening, she decided to remain just in case he should awaken and require anything. She took a seat in the center of the floor and tried to enter a meditative state, sleep being impossible under the circumstances, but found her thoughts racing incoherently instead.

T'Riss took several deep, cleansing breaths, attempting to calm herself and consider the situation rationally. She should be capable of providing sexual satisfaction to Daniel. It was, after all, nothing she had not experienced before with men who lacked all of Daniel's positive qualities as a potential mate. He was, as Sehlra had pointed out, an excellent candidate for a mated partnership in her current situation, so why did her body insist on reacting so adversely to his touch? Indeed, her frustrating inability to suppress the fear she was experiencing was so obvious that he, completely devoid of any telepathic ability, had deduced her state of mind with ease.

A low moan came from the direction of the bed, drawing her attention to the man who lay upon it. His brow was wrinkled, whether from emotional distress or pain was difficult to tell, and he'd rolled to his back, away from the tangle of blanket and sheets he'd been embracing. He was bare from the waist up, the russet hair on his head pressed into his pillow, the alien tangle of red-brown hair on his chest exposed. A sheet draped his hips, clad only in the tight undergarment he had worn beneath his coverall. He moaned again, his hand gripping the sheet covering his leg, and she saw with a sudden heat to her skin that he was aroused again. She closed her eyes, heart pounding, trying to think of something else, but all she could think of was that a Vulcan male in such a state would be at this point willing to do practically anything to resolve the issue. Certainly there were also members of many other races who would respond the same way. She'd had firsthand experience of that. Some very unpleasant memories surfaced with the thought, and she returned her attention to her own problematic emotional responses.

It was not that she'd found the physical contact unpleasant. As a matter of fact, taken objectively and without regard to further potential consequences, having liniment applied to her bruises by a pair of gentle, cool hands had been intensely pleasurable, even arousing. And that, she realized, was the crux of the matter. The artificial pon farr-inducing organism she'd been infected with during her Orion captivity had forced her to enjoy her debasement, to crave it. Healer Tyvek had tried to explain the damage that had been done to normally dormant areas of her brain by the recurrent and persistent activation of limbic pathways only seldom activated in normal Vulcans. These pathways would never regain their usual dormancy. Constant vigilance, he'd told her, would be required to keep the emotions they aroused in her at bay, the very emotions which Daniel's touch elicited.

_I fear my own responses, _she thought in surprise. The realization was a reassuring one. Her own responses were things she might at some point regain control over, given sufficient time and desensitization, and it certainly was much more reasonable to be concerned about her own behavior than about any risk of her coming to harm through Daniel's actions.

Sounds of stirring from the bed made her open her eyes again. He was still sleeping, but restlessly, muttering something incomprehensible under his breath and thrashing his arms and legs as if he were running in his sleep. She stood and approached the bed, concerned that he might injure himself, and without thinking reached out a hand to stroke his brow and calm him, as one would calm a restless child. At her touch his tense body relaxed and his face took on the slack-jawed appearance of an infant asleep after a feeding. His innocence reminded her painfully of her months of duty in the crèche, just after her graduation from the academy and before her posting on _The Plains of Gol_. She'd thought at the time that she was preparing herself for eventual motherhood as well as doing her civic duty for the working mothers in her cohort. Instead, that time of wiping small faces and soothing small hurts would very likely be the only opportunity she would ever have to indulge her maternal instincts unless she could somehow overcome her experiences enough to take a mate.

As T'Riss continued to stroke his curls, Daniel reached out in his sleep, grasped an armful of blanket with one muscular arm, curled into a fetal ball, and sighed before falling deeper into slumber.

_He is not esthetically displeasing_, she considered_. Indeed, compared to Grigor-Tel he is positively outstanding. _The errant thought activated a series of memories, each less pleasant than the last. T'Riss took firm hold of her emotional stability and regarded them dispassionately. All of that was in the past. Those memories were dead and gone, they had no power to harm her. She let her breath out slowly and looked back down at the Human on the bed.

She remembered his comment about her people's aversion to Human scent. T'Riss judged that any such aversion was merely the result of unfamiliarity with non-Vulcans. Compared to Klingons, Orions, and Tellarites, not to mention some of the more exotic reptilian and semi-aquatic races, Humans smelled almost Vulcan. She could not repress a tiny shudder.

A very faint tap sounded on the door, barely detectable even to her hearing. T'Riss walked over and slid the portal open. Sehlra stood in the corridor. The Andorian engineer was a bit unsteady on her feet and looked as if she might fall asleep at any moment, but she was smiling an oddly carefree smile. There was a mug in her hand. Her smile reverted to a frown when she caught sight of the chamber behind T'Riss. She seemed disappointed to find T'Riss vertical and Daniel asleep. The Andorian woman gestured T'Riss out into the passageway and closed the door with exaggerated care behind them.

"How'd it go, girl?" she inquired with unconcealed eagerness. The mug in her hand steamed. The beverage in it looked vaguely like Daniel's coffee, but was more viscous and had a richer, sweeter odor.

T'Riss brushed her hair back from her face and confessed, "The outcome was not optimal. I was unable to suppress my trepidation and Daniel detected it. I invited him to proceed anyway, but he declined, implying that he would consider it dishonorable."

Sehlra opened her mouth and closed it again, blinking. "Tha' never occurred to me. Are you gon' be able to do this, girl?" Her speech was slightly impaired, T'Riss noted, a cause for concern. She was relatively elderly for an Andorian. Was she that fatigued? Or perhaps she wasn't well. T'Riss tilted her head, studying the older woman intently.

"I knew you were prob'ly still hurtin' from what happened, but I didn' know you were hurt tha' bad," continued Sehlra, seeming oblivious to T'Riss's scrutiny. "If you can't han'le it, say so. We c'n find Daniel 'nother wife." She raised the mug to her lips and took a large swallow. It occurred to T'Riss that the substance in her mug might be responsible for the state she was in. Sehlra gazed expectantly at T'Riss, waiting for an answer. Whatever was in the drink she was consuming, it evidently hadn't completely incapacitated her yet.

"I do not wish you to find Daniel another wife," T'Riss told her with as much dignity as she could muster. "I have considered the matter carefully and at length. I agree that Daniel is the best option that I am likely to be able to find in the foreseeable future. I will overcome my difficulties."

"How'd he react to the idea gen'rally?" Sehlra wanted to know.

"Surprised and uncertain," T'Riss told her. "But he seemed amenable to discussion of the matter after we have rested."

"Y'know …Human males mate five or six times a day if they can get it," Sehlra told her seriously.

"I have heard this rumor," T'Riss replied. "But the Vulcan database states in fact that a healthy Human male seldom mates more than three times per day. It is the duty of a Vulcan wife to provide for the physical needs of her husband. If necessary, supplemental lubricants are available."

Sehlra smirked, looking uncommonly amused by T'Riss's completely factual statement. "Good 'nuff, then. Get yourself some rest and start working on him when he wakes up." Sehlra patted T'Riss clumsily on the side of the head, leaving her deeply uncomfortable but unable to formulate an objection. She watched the Orion woman walk unsteadily down the passageway, then turned back toward Daniel's door. There was no reason not to take advantage of his invitation. Not only did Daniel make quite a comfortable pillow, but hopefully sustained contact during sleep would help her to overcome her difficulty.

#

Sienae hurriedly wrapped a pressure bandage around her head. Once she'd become convinced of the need, shaving the ridges from her forehead had been remarkably easy, but the vigorous hemorrhaging had surprised her. It had been so long since she'd indulged her bloodier proclivities that she'd forgotten how colorful scalp wounds could be. She inspected the result in the shiny reflective panel she'd used to do the job. The image was a bit grisly, what with the green dripping from her chin and the rapidly spreading stain on the bandages covering her forehead, but it wasn't anything time, soap and water couldn't remedy, and perhaps it would lend credence to her claims if her new allies believed she'd been injured escaping from the evil Romulans—at least long enough to gain their trust.

The entire procedure had taken less than a cycle, long enough to be within detailed sensor range of both the Human ship and the D'Kyr cruiser. She sat back down in the pilot's chair and studied the data. Damin had chosen a frustratingly excellent hiding place. In order to get to him she'd have to maneuver her shuttle within the_ Sehlat's _ring nacelle. It would have been a challenge even if she could rely on her cloak, but she had firsthand evidence of the Vulcans' ability to penetrate it. She wasn't within firing range of the _Sehlat's _weapons yet, but once there she'd have to move quickly to avoid being destroyed, and she'd have to pass within firing range of the Human ship to do it. Her shuttle had only one advantage, a single short range disruptor cannon, too small to do significant damage to the huge ships, but upon further reflection, certainly large enough to provide a distraction.

#

Llahir followed Phlox out from behind the curtain with a feeling of exhausted satisfaction. Despite some minor complications with the Tellarite woman's labor, both mother and infant were doing well. The Vulcan agent had been surprisingly gratified at being able to assist with the procedure.

He emerged to find Phlox smiling in cautious friendliness at the figure who stood waiting for them. "Good evening, Lieutenant Reed. The refugees have all been perfectly cooperative. We've stabilized everyone we can and they'll all be ready for transfer to the _Kau T'Surak _when we arrive at the station. There are no security issues here." The security officer didn't seem reassured.

Llahir had been at the doctor's side when the Vulcan hospital ship's confirmation transmission had come through. The _Kau T'Surak _stood ready to receive multiple casualties. Llahir was planning to join the Vulcan medical personnel during the transfer. He'd deactivated his homing beacon as soon as he'd been transported aboard. Now all he had to do was to avoid calling attention to himself and he'd be back on the_ Sehlat _in just a few hours. Unfortunately, judging by the look the security officer was giving him it was too late for that.

Phlox gave the man he'd addressed as "Lieutenant Reed" a quizzical look when the Human didn't say anything. "Is there a problem, Lieutenant?" Phlox asked.

"That will depend entirely on how cooperative your companion decides to be," the security officer told him, and put one hand on the phase pistol holstered at his waist. Phlox ignored the weapon completely, studying the man's grimly serious expression with an expression of disbelief. Then he looked back at Llahir, who was in the process of raising both hands in the air. Suddenly the Denobulan exploded.

"Why? Why is it that every time someone, especially a Vulcan, sets foot anywhere near my medical section they immediately get arrested? Do you have some personal grudge against me, Mr. Reed?" Phlox advanced on the lieutenant, seething. Reed backpedaled hurriedly, an alarmed expression on his face. Llahir bit his tongue. The sight of the portly and mild-mannered doctor terrorizing an armed security officer was the most entertaining thing he'd seen all day.

"No! By no means. I'm acting on the captain's direct orders. This wasn't my idea," Lieutenant Reed explained desperately. Phlox suddenly deflated. His anger seemed to pass as suddenly as it had come.

"Understood," Phlox said, waving a hand. "Do whatever you are required to do." He shot Llahir an apologetic glance.

"It is quite all right, doctor," Llahir assured him. "I am confident that there is no cause for alarm."

"Certainly not," the Human officer responded firmly. "The captain simply wants to talk to you. That's all."

"Of course," Llahir told him genially. "I would be pleased to meet with your captain. Lead on, Lieutenant Reed."

"First," Reed handed him a sensor baffle, "please put this on. The captain hates interruptions."

"A familiar piece of equipment lately," Llahir said wryly. He buckled on the baffle without protest and followed the Human out the door and down the corridor to the turbolift, up the turbolift to a new deck, and thence through several passages to a small meeting room where a middle aged Human sat at the head of a rectangular table. Llahir recognized him as the officer who'd greeted him in High Vulcan during his brief stay aboard _Enterprise _at the time of his retrieval. A young Human woman sat at the foot of the table and watched him with the bright-eyed fascination of innocent youth.

The older Human stood and offered the ta'al. "Peace and long life to you, Agent Llahir. I am Captain Jonathan Archer. This is my Communication Officer, Ensign Sato. You have, of course, met Lieutenant Reed. Please have a seat. The rest of my command staff will arrive soon."

"Live long and prosper, Captain Jonathan Archer," Llahir returned the ta'al. "I am honored to meet the bearer of the katra of Surak," He bowed and sat down at Archer's right hand, and Reed took the seat flanking him. Llahir examined Archer curiously. During his debriefing on the _Sehlat _he'd been brought up to date concerning this Captain Archer. The mystery of the man's initial greeting in High Vulcan had been explained in a somewhat offhanded manner by Raijiin as "just leftover memories". She had seemed to regard this Human with a great deal of trepidation but very little respect. The validity of her opinions was something he was unable to objectively evaluate, never having dealt with Humans to any significant degree before. Fortunately, his perfect recall made his old training readily available to him. According to the indoctrination provided by the High Command, Humans were unpredictable and prone to violent outbursts when frustrated. Patience and caution were called for.

Archer smiled at Llahir. "I became the bearer of Surak's katra by default, not through any particular merit on my part, Agent Llahir. When the original bearer, Syrann, was injured and dying I was the closest available host as well as being the only male present. Surak later informed me that cross-gender katra transfers are problematic. He therefore directed Syrann to place his katra into my mind."

"Fascinating," Llahir leaned back. "I had wondered why Surak would have chosen someone who was not Vulcan."

"Many others also wondered," Archer told him, with a trace of irritation in his voice. "But the fact is, he didn't. He chose the only option available, one who just happened to be Human."

"Understood," Llahir nodded. "Would it be permissible for me to ask some questions?"

"Certainly," Archer's smile widened. "Provided you are willing to answer an equal number of questions in return." Llahir felt a touch of ironic appreciation. Before he could reply, the door behind him slid open and two more individuals entered. One of them was a Vulcan female, so Llahir stood and offered a formal nod and gesture of greeting, which was returned.

"Commanders," Archer said, "may I present Agent Llahir of the High Command. This is my First Officer and Science Officer, Commander T'Pol, and my Chief Engineer, Commander Tucker. Have a seat everyone, we're on the verge of making some progress, I think."

Llahir noted instantly that the newcomers were acting in concert. For decades his survival had depended on his ability to read the unspoken language of the body, and he saw clearly that the two commanders operated as a team without conscious thought. They moved together automatically. They seated themselves together smoothly and without bumping, both of them knowing without needing to look where the other one's body would be. When they did look at each other, it was only for tiny flicks, but each micro-glance contained an entire conversation. Improbable as it seemed, Llahir began to entertain the possibility that this pair might be bonded.

While everyone was getting settled, the captain asked Tucker a question regarding the ship's engines. As the Human was responding with a verbal report, Llahir considered the significance of his observations. Certainly there were Romulans who had taken alien mates, so there was no biological reason that a Vulcan could not. It was merely that he had never encountered such a thing before.

"Agent Llahir," Archer interrupted his musing.

"Yes, Captain?" Llahir put on his best look of dutiful attentiveness, the one that had served him so well in the Empire.

"Before I attempt to persuade you to share data about those who march under the raptor's wings," Llahir stiffened. Archer smirked. "I would like to get a report about what happened after your capture, as well as what occurred on the Tellarite freighter before it blew up. All we have so far are fragmented stories from the survivors."

"Of course, Captain Archer. The Romulans aboard the _Aehallh_ were well aware of Damin's abilities, so we took advantage of that fact. As soon as we were incarcerated, Damin pretended to…"

"Tactical Alert! All hands to battle stations! Command crew to the bridge! All hands to battle stations!"

The wailing siren sliced into Llahir's eardrums like a hot needle, which he supposed was the entire point. No one, not even a deaf Lorbomite, could possibly ignore such an alarm. Around him the Humans leaped into action with astonishing speed. Apparently his instructors in the High Command had significantly underestimated this species. The Romulans that he had commanded in the Empire could not have reacted faster. Archer snapped, "Llahir! Remain here and await further orders!"

"Acknowledged," was all he could manage before the last of them disappeared out the door. Seconds later the siren ceased and the room became silent. After sitting at the table looking at the walls for several seconds, Llahir reached out and picked up the padd the young Human female had left behind. He would be here a while, it seemed. Or alternatively, judging from past events, he might be snatched away at any moment by his fellow Vulcans, sensor baffle notwithstanding. He might as well make himself useful.

Llahir activated the dictation function of the device and began to speak.

#

Jonathan Archer reached his command chair and shot a glance at Malcolm Reed, raising a brow. Malcolm took the place of the scared-looking lieutenant at tactical, then reached out and silenced the alert siren. He began reviewing sensor data automatically while suppressing his annoyance at the captain's peremptory manner. Captain Archer had been giving fewer and fewer verbal orders in recent weeks, expecting an immediate response to meaningful looks and a raised brow. It was much more efficient in a combat situation, Malcolm supposed, provided that the crew could read his expressions, but it was beginning to make the armory officer uneasy.

"Tactical, status report," said the captain.

"There's an eighty-five percent likelihood of a cloak in use bearing 25.6 x 112.1 x 43.0 delta v neg c-0.13," Malcolm replied in an equally terse manner. "Estimated time to firing range at current trajectory and speed…one minute and forty-five seconds."

He exchanged a look with Commander T'Pol from across the bridge. Their recent conversation regarding the captain came to mind. She'd assured him that she would address the issue privately with Dr. Phlox. It had been several days now and Malcolm saw no evidence that she'd done so, but in all fairness to the commander, Phlox had been rather busy lately.

"Stand by on phase cannon. Fire when in range," returned Archer.

Malcolm paused with his hand on the firing control. There was a hush on the bridge. He could sense the mental countdown. One minute and fifteen seconds into it the locus of high probability changed direction, as if it were deliberately staying just out of range.

"The locus has changed direction. It's going for the _Sehlat," _Malcolm said.

"Helm, pursue. Close the gap. Tactical, prepare to fire. Put the locus on screen," ordered Archer.

_No names_, Malcolm noticed_, as if we're not individuals to him anymore. _The _Sehlat _appeared on the front viewscreen, apparently without escort save for the_ Lertieran _at least ten kilometers distant. A linear flash extended outward from inside the_ Sehlat's _ring nacelle and impacted on—nothing.

"Disruptor fire from the _Sehlat, _Captain," Malcolm reported. He paused. Something was odd. The energy signature of the disruptor blast was perhaps a tenth of the intensity usually produced by a D'Kyr cruiser's standard disruptors, and the beam had originated from a location which risked the integrity of the ship's warp drive, where no weapons emplacement should ever be. He focused his attention on the origin of the blast and thought he saw something flicker, but the probability of cloak use in the area remained less than five percent, and the high probability locus was now so close to the Vulcan vessel that firing on it risked serious collateral damage. He held his fire. Abruptly an explosion registered on the _Sehlat's_ hull almost on top of the origin of the disruptor blast.

"There's damage to the _Sehlat,_ sir. I can't tell whether it's from impact or weapon's fire. The locus is too close to their nacelle to risk firing on it, but it's immobile now," announced Malcolm.

"Tactical, hold your fire. Comm, contact the _Sehlat _and offer our assistance." Archer's voice was icily calm. Hoshi glanced worriedly at the captain's impassive face before initiating the call.

#

T'Lar said calmly, "Report." She pressed a control on the arm of her command chair and watched the readout intently.

From over her shoulder Verlen recited, "Extensive damage to engineering decks three and four. Hull breaches in sections one, two and five. Casualty reports are still coming in. So far we have two confirmed dead, seventeen wounded."

"Acknowledged," T'Lar said. "Helm, report status of the Romulan shuttle."

"Commander," the sub-centurion permitted a trace of excitement to infuse his voice. T'Lar made a mental note to assign him additional off-duty time for meditation. "It appears that there are now two ships on sensors. Both of them correspond to the profile of Romulan shuttlecraft. Apparently we were not hit by debris after all. It seems that the impact was made by a second cloaked shuttlecraft."

"Energize tractor beam," T'Lar ordered. "Stabilize the two craft and bring them to a stop relative to our position. Subcommander Verlen, scan both craft for life signs and lock on. Transport all crew from both ships to the brig."

"Unable to comply, Commander," Velen said regretfully. "The interaction between the two cloaking fields is interfering with our scans. I can say that we are picking up what appears to be three life forms, but I cannot get a clear reading on any of them. Transport is not possible."

"Tractor beam is locked on, Commander," the helm officer reported. "Both ships are under power and grappled together now. Maintaining the lock will be challenging."

"Verlen," T'Lar ordered, "Arm disruptors at low power and attempt to disable the engines of both craft."

"Acknowledged."

"Commander," the Communications officer spoke up. "_Enterprise _reports that one of the shuttles is broadcasting a weak signal from a homing beacon. They also report that Agent Llahir is confirmed to be aboard their ship."

"The Betazoid." T'Lar nodded. "Acknowledge the information from _Enterprise _and request that they stand by unless we call upon them." She swiveled. "Subcommander, can you disable their engines?"

"Unfortunately not, Commander," Verlen reported. "The shuttles are so small, and their construction is so frail, that a direct hit by our disruptors on any part, even at the lowest setting, would result in complete destruction. Perhaps the Humans' phase cannon might be capable of a weaker output."

"It seems illogical to wish for a less effective weapon," T'Lar muttered. Then she resumed at full volume. "Contact _Enterprise_ and confer with them on the matter. Meanwhile, maintain maximum power to the tractor beam and do everything possible to obtain a transport lock." Acknowledgements came from all around the bridge.

#

"She is almost through." Sweat dripped from the face of Damin's Romulan servant. He stared with wide eyes from his crouched position on the far side of the access hatch. Terror radiated from him like a dark beacon, chilling Damin's spirit.

_Understandable, _Damin reflected_. You served with her for years. You know what she is capable of as well as I do. And by helping me, even under my control, you have condemned yourself. Mother has never been known for her rational approach to justice. _

The red hot glow next to the hatch lock widened and brightened. Damin felt his belly clench into a cold knot and his genitals tighten up against his loins. Old, ugly memories from childhood rose up from the darkness, memories of waiting in the darkness for Her to come and punish him again. He very deliberately bit his tongue until he tasted blood. He was a man, not a child. He would not be reduced to whimpering. Damin breathed in and out. He deliberately loosened his grip on the disruptor in his hand. Forcing himself to permit his muscles to relax, he loosened his knees and visualized his feet sinking into the surface of the deck and taking root.

_Balance and control, Son, _His father's voice whispered in his ear_. You can do this. I know you can. I am proud of you..._

_**FOOL! **_The back of Her hand knocked him staggering sideways. He was crying from the pain._ Can you do nothing correctly? _

Damin bared his teeth and dropped his chin. _No more, Mother. It ends here. The years of lying. The pain. The treachery. The blood debt you owe me for my father's life. It ends here. I will run no more. _He put all of his energy into a focused telepathic shout, burning with a lifetime of rage and pain._ Do you hear me, Mother? One of us dies today. I WILL RUN NO MORE. _

The answering blast of hatred struck him the way her fist used to beat him when she came home in a bad mood. The force almost knocked him off his feet—almost, but not quite. Something—some_one-_was inside his head, mitigating the stomach-churning effect of it_._

_Calm yourself. We are here._

The presence in his brain was partially familiar. It felt as if the portion of it he recognized was a warmly emotional, somewhat unsure and fearful overlay over a distinctly structured and rigidly controlled anchor. The two were intimately connected somehow, an unlikely pairing.

_Deactivate your cloak and we will beam you aboard._

_Who are you?_

Mistrust prevented him from obeying without question. For now the odds were decent, two to one in his favor. Dropping his cloak would pit him against three ships whose captains might or might not have decided by now to cut their losses by just destroying the two linked shuttles along with everyone aboard.

Melting slag began to ooze from the center of the hot spot beside the airlock's inner hatch. A centimeter-wide hole appeared in the metal, growing slowly from the edges outward. Acrid fumes filled his nostrils. He raised the disruptor, pointing it at the center of the opening.

_We are agents of the Security Directorate. DROP YOUR CLOAK. _

Damin gritted his teeth. His mental visitors didn't know him as well as they thought they did. A harsh, authoritarian command was hardly likely to convince him to cooperate. He sensed their realization of this fact, and then their tactics changed. Damin winced as the combined power of the two joined entities penetrated his shields. Images filled his mind…familiar scenes of opulent silks, leather bindings, bare skin, painful pleasures and pleasurable pain. He had many memories of a similar nature himself, but in these images he was soft, weak, and female.

_Raijiin. _

_You can trust me, Damin. We're the same. Drop your cloak…please. _

The hole in the metal was at least a half-meter wide. Sienae had missed the unlocking mechanism, or perhaps fused it, but that wasn't even slowing her down. Apparently, now she'd decided to melt a door in the hull big enough to enter. Smoke filled the shuttle. This close, he could sense a vague and incoherent plan she'd formulated in response to being trapped in a tiny impulse-driven vessel in enemy territory without any prospect of rescue. The hopeless situation had obviously unhinged her to an even greater extent than usual. She intended to force him to join her in taking over the _Sehlat-_if he lived through her recruitment efforts_. _

_You're insane, Mother. _The Sehlat was a D'Kyr cruiser, with a crew complement of up to 147 persons. Even untrained, the crew would overcome her eventually simply because she couldn't kill them all.

Coughing, with the tail of his shirt pressed over his face, Damin fired a disruptor shot into the airlock through the defect without result. She was almost in the shuttle. Once she entered, he'd have no time to deactivate the cloak, and he had no guarantee of killing her with only one hand disruptor at his disposal. After a necessarily brief consideration of his options, he beckoned to Dhael, who was by that time looking frantic to do something and frustrated by his unarmed state. Fixing the younger man with a focused, serious gaze, he extended his weapon butt first. Dhael straightened proudly, pressed his right fist firmly to his left shoulder, and grasped the weapon. There was no need for coercion. The young man's sense of honor and his sure knowledge that intense suffering would necessarily follow if Sienae managed to make it through the hull were enough to galvanize him into action. He rushed the defect in the hull just as Sienae's arm appeared through it holding a disruptor and firing in a fan pattern on continuous beam. Damin dove for the console, inputting the cloak's deactivation code just as his mother and Dhael caught each other in the crossfire.

Sienae's beam intersected the center of Dhael's chest, incinerating him where he stood, but Damin had heard his mother's muffled curse. Dhael's beam had grazed her forearm, igniting her uniform and causing her weapon to fall from her nerveless fingers onto the deck outside the makeshift and still red-hot portal. Damin dove for it, scooping it up. He could see his mother frantically beating at the sleeve of her uniform through the hole she'd burned in the hull. He pointed the weapon at her. She looked up at him, her bloody bandaged head making her seem more vulnerable than he'd ever known her to be. He was the one with the weapon now, the one who held the power, but there was still nothing but disdain on her face and in her mind. Damin gritted his teeth, steeling himself, but before he could deliver the justice she so richly deserved the room dissolved around him with a high-pitched whine.

#

"What's happening?" Daniel demanded as he pulled himself up through the hatch. T'Riss and Sehlra spun their heads around, the Vulcan in her typical position at the co-pilot's station and the Andorian standing hunched over Jenrali's shoulder. Jenrali kept his attention on his console, where it belonged.

"What do you think you are doing up, boy?" Sehlra growled. "I ordered you to rest."

"You ordered both of us to rest," Daniel pointed out reasonably, as he half dragged himself to the operations console. "But T'Riss is here. Did you expect me to sleep through all the commotion? I don't have Vulcan hearing or Andorian antenna, but I'm not deaf. What's going on?" He brought up the tactical sensor display. "Uh... oboy."

"You see it, don't you, lad?" Jenrali asked tensely. "Weapon discharges alongside the Vulcan cruiser. The Humans just broadcast an offer to help, and the greenskins told them to stand ready."

"Powering phase cannon," Daniel said automatically. "Loading torpedo one. Hull plating active."

"Rest easy, lad," Jenrali soothed him, "we're not in this one. Not yet anyway. The other two have that shuttle pinned between them. All we could do would be to get in the way."

"Shuttle?" Daniel jerked upright, ignoring the flare in his back. "Romulan shuttle?"

"Yes," T'Riss told him. "Long range scans indicate a Romulan shuttle in close proximity to _Sehlat. _They are attempting a tractor lock." Daniel jumped for the communications controls. Suddenly a disembodied voice filled the control room_. _

"_Sehlat to Enterprise. Our disruptors are too powerful. Request assistance disabling the shuttle engines." _

"_Acknowledged, Sehlat. Will attempt to comply. Closing range to 0.5 klicks." _

There was a brief pause. Then...

"_Enterprise to Sehlat. Preparing to fire. Confirm three life signs on conjoined shuttles. One Betazoid, two Vulcan or Vulcanoid. Be advised that disabling shuttle engines will also disable life support functions aboard both craft." _

"Betazoid!" Sehlra's hands clenched hard on the back of Jenrali's seat, bending the metal frame and tearing into the uphosltery. Daniel's breath caught.

_He's still alive, _Daniel realized in relief._ I didn't fail her completely. _

"Strap down," Jenrali said calmly. "Prepare for combat maneuvering." He turned to look at Sehlra. "We need you in engineering," he chided gently.

She hesitated. "Take it easy this time, old man. They're both already hurting from your last episode of playing test pilot."

A smile crinkled the corner of his eyes. "Get below, woman. Don't tell me how to fly my own ship." She huffed and headed for the ladder.

The comm crackled again.

"_Sehlat to Enterprise. Hold fire. We are attempting alternate communication method. Maintain status." _

"_Acknowledged, Sehlat." _

"Alternate communication?" Daniel wondered. "What are they talking about?" He bent over his board intently.

Sehlra turned from the ladder to stand beside him. "See anything?" She couldn't keep the note of anxious worry out of her voice.

Daniel shook his head. "Both shuttles are cloaked. I'm reading some energy discharges inside, looks like a lot of heat buildup inside one of them. Maybe a fire? I can see the lifesigns though. They're right. Two Vulcans and a Betazoid." Palpable relief swept through the cabin. Even T'Riss seemed to feel it.

"There's something... wait." Daniel jumped for his controls and started doing things. "Readings are changing... Hah! The shuttle with Damin in it has just dropped its cloak! Energy discharge inside the cabin and..." He stopped and grinned up at Sehlra. "_Sehlat _has him. Registered a transporter signal from the Vulcan ship and the Betazoid lifesign disappeared."

She sagged against the ops console and looked like she was about to faint. "What about the other one?" Jenrali wanted to know.

"It's…" Daniel turned back to his sensors and stopped with his mouth open.

"Daniel?" Sehlra questioned. She looked at the others in confusion. T'Riss got busy on the navigational sensors and reported.

"_Enterprise_ has closed to within 300 meters of the conjoined shuttles, and is maneuvering to place herself between the shuttles and _Sehlat_," she reported. "There is now only one life sign remaining in the shuttles. I am detecting phase cannon fire from _Enterprise_," she added.

"Ahh..." Jenrali nodded. "They want that last man before the Vulcans can snatch him away."

T'Riss looked dubious. "I am certain that the High Council will not approve of this."

"Let them disapprove, lass," Jenrali told her. "Call it self-defense, or laws of salvage, or whatever you want. Once they have him, what can the Vulcans do about it?"

_#_

"Stand ready," Trip warned. "She's coming through."

Malcolm nodded toward the three man MACO team, who merely nodded without shifting their attention away from the transporter pad. The control system started whining in its typical fashion, which was the cue for Malcolm's team to raise their weapons to ready. The pad lit up and a second later a crouched humanoid figure appeared, solidifying into a snarling Vulcan woman with a badly burned arm, a messily bloody dressing around her head, and eyes filled with madness. She screamed and leaped for the throat of the nearest MACO. Stun fire from three different weapons cut her down in mid-leap, and Malcolm was fastening a sensor baffle around her waist almost before she hit the floor.

"Let's get this one to the brig, gentlemen," he said urgently. "Double time, please."

"Nice work, Mal," Trip grinned. "I'll tell the cap'n…" Another transporter whine began, but with a lower tone and different harmonics.

Malcolm snapped, "Defensive positions." The three MACOs dropped into position around Trip and the unconscious prisoner like well oiled machines, leaving Malcolm free to hit the comm button.

"Intruder alert! Prepare to repel boarders!" he announced. The siren started blaring simultaneously with the appearance of two armed Vulcan security officers. They never even got a chance to take aim before being hit by stun blasts from multiple directions. A moment later the Humans gathered to gaze speculatively down at the unconscious Vulcans.

"Oh, crap," Trip muttered.

#

Archer's voice was icily calm. "Transporter room, instruct the MACOs to convey all three prisoners to the brig. Commander Tucker will supervise, with authority to requisition more assistance as needed. Lieutenant Reed, report to the bridge immediately." He turned his flat gaze on T'Pol. "Commander. You will handle tactical until he arrives."

She stared for a frozen moment. Then, "Yes, Captain," she said. T'Pol moved smoothly over to Malcolm's customary position and glanced over the board.

"Helm. Status," Archer barked. Travis grimaced.

"That last shot by Lieutenant Reed before he left the bridge took out the engines, all right," Mayweather reported. "But it left a gaping hole in the sides of both ships. Good thing they were docked together so tightly or there wouldn't be much left of either one. Right now I have a grapple lock on the bow of the least damaged shuttle, but that's not saying much. Trying to ease it in, Captain. If we could adjust our azimuth, I might be able to get a second grapple on it."

"Negative, that would expose the objective to Vulcan tractor beams," Archer said absently. "Communications, open a channel to _Sehlat. _Helm, maintain position perpendicular to the Vulcan. Tactical, lock dorsal phase cannon on the Vulcan nacelle."

Dead silence followed his last order. Archer looked up in irritation. "You all have your orders. Proceed."

"Position unchanged, Captain," Travis whispered, staring. Hoshi swallowed and got busy. T'Pol pressed the relevant controls and then straightened.

"Captain." She waited while Archer ignored her. "Captain Jonathan Archer, I request and require a response as First Officer of this vessel."

Archer did not look at her. But he did raise at hand in Hoshi's direction, causing her to pause in her effort to establish a connection with _Sehlat. _"We are in the midst of a tactical situation, Commander."

"Agreed, Captain. As First Officer, I must inquire if it is your intention to escalate this situation by opening fire on an ally."

"And if it is?" Archer finally turned to look at her. "Have you finally made a determination as to your ultimate loyalty?"

T'Pol's voice did not vary in the slightest. "You, more than any other save one, know where my loyalty lies. But as First Officer I am duty bound to offer my opinion if I observe my captain about to undertake an action that I believe would be detrimental to the best interests of the ship, the crew, or Starfleet."

Archer nodded slowly. "Your objection is noted. Will you obey despite it?"

T'Pol closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, there was no trace of emotion to be detected. "Yes."

"Acceptable. Resume your station, then." He turned to face the main screen. "Ensign Sato, get me Commander T'Lar."

#

" Commander, _Enterprise _has locked phase cannon on our engines," Verlen reported.

T'Lar stiffened in her seat. "Shields. Open a channel to the Human ship. Communications, what is the status of the away team?"

"No response, Commander," the worried looking youngster told her. "We have had no contact from either member of the team since transport."

T'Lar looked over her shoulder at Verlen. "Can you obtain a transporter lock on our people and extract them, Subcommander?"

He informed her regretfully, "I am unable to obtain a clear reading on their lifesigns, Commander. The Human hull polarization does not block transport, but it does cause a noticeable degree of interference with scans. Also note that the Human brig is fully shielded."

"Can you tell me anything about the status of the shuttle?"

Verlen glanced back at his visor. "The Humans have launched a grappling device and are in the process of dragging the wreckage into their ship."

"This is intolerable," T'Lar ground out between her teeth. "Summon Agent Senek to the bridge immediately. I refuse to open hostilities against an ally without direct orders from the High Council or the Security Directorate, but standing orders prohibit allowing the Humans to retain a Romulan prisoner or ship."

The Communications officer announced, "I have _Enterprise, _Commander."

"Main screen," T'Lar snapped. She filled her lungs and then let a breath out slowly while the face of Captain Archer formed. He was not smiling. In fact, his face wore a respectable facade of disciplined control. T'Lar started to relax just the tiniest bit. Perhaps it might be possible for reason to prevail. Archer was standing behind what appeared to be the helm console, where a young Human male was busy manipulating controls and ignoring the conversation.

"Commander," Archer did not waste time on amenities, which suited her admirably. "Explain why two of your security officers took it upon themselves to transport aboard my ship, armed, unannounced, and without prior permission. This behavior is illogical and unacceptable."

T'Lar tightened her controls. The bridge door opened and Senek entered as she began speaking. "Our scans indicated that you had transported the remaining occupant of the two shuttles to your ship. Since our readings indicated that this person was Vulcan, our security personnel transported to offer assistance."

Archer raised one eyebrow. "A creditable fabrication, given the time constraints under which you are operating, but you are well aware that our ship carries a full complement of trained and experienced security officers – all of whom are well armed – in addition to a contingent of Military Assault Command personnel. The probability of a single Vulcan overwhelming us is non-existent. Moreover, you are also well aware that the captive we obtained was not Vulcan, but Romulan. I submit that your men were acting under your orders and intended to kidnap our prisoner."

Archer sat down in his command chair and turned his head. "Lieutenant Reed. Report."

The _Enterprise _Security chief stepped down beside the command chair and faced his captain. He recited, "The Vulcan officers have been placed in the brig under heavy MACO guard, sir. The Romulan commander is being treated in sickbay, secured in the isolation chamber, with a sensor baffle in place. Agent Llahir has been assigned temporary quarters under guard, also with his sensor baffle still in place."

"Good," Archer told him. "You will relieve Commander T'Pol at tactical. Commander, resume your duties at the science station."

T'Lar's tightened on the arms of her chair, but she made no other response. Senek flicked a glance at her before returning his attention to the screen. On the Human ship, they watched as T'Pol straightened and walked across the Human bridge, wearing a Human uniform, to resume her usual station on the bridge of a Human warship. Senek's eyes started to glitter.

"I am willing to overlook the provocative nature of your words, Captain," T'Lar told him, "given the stress of the current situation. If the assistance of our security personnel is not required, then the most logical course of action would be to return them to us. Placing them in the brig is uncalled for. Further, I assure you that you are mistaken regarding the identity of the individual that you retrieved. Our scans positively identified the survivor as Vulcan."

Archer's eyebrow twitched slightly, but he made no other visible response. "It is to your credit, Commander T'Lar, that you are so blatantly inept at deception. Anyone with minimal experience can readily perceive that you find lying supremely distasteful. In fact, you can barely force yourself to make the effort. I beg you to desist. Watching you struggle with it is painful."

T'Lar pressed her lips together and felt her ears grow hot. Senek stepped forward and made the disgusting gagging sound in his throat that Humans used to announce their intention of speaking. "If I may,Captain? Perhaps you might be willing to negotiate some type of compromise?"

"Ah, Agent Senek," Archer nodded with a tiny twitch of his lips. "Much better. I am confident that you are well polished in the fine art of corrupting the truth. You should be capable of presenting the High Council's position without any disabling attacks of conscience. Please, by all means, present your suggestion."

Senek offered an abbreviated smile. "Rather than debate motivation, Captain Archer, would it not be more productive for you to inform us of your requirements for returning our personnel?"

"Logical and efficient," Archer said approvingly. "Your security guards will be returned as soon as they, and Commander T'Lar, have each separately and independently completed a sworn statement. These statements will be submitted simultaneously to both Starfleet Command and the Vulcan High Council. They will contain a clear and explicit explanation of precisely why those two security officers ended up on my ship, why they came unannounced and without permission, and why they came with weapons in their hands. As soon as I receive all three statements they will be transported back to _Sehlat." _

"I see," Senek spoke rapidly while T'Lar concentrated on not ripping the arms off her command chair. "And what of Agent Llahir, or the other Vulcan aboard the shuttle?"

"Agent Llahir," Archer told them calmly, "has offered an acceptable bargain. In return for the right to question me regarding my time hosting the katra of Surak, he has agreed to answer questions concerning his time among the Romulans. This seems to me to be an equitable exchange, would you not agree? As soon as our conversation is complete, Llahir will no doubt be returning to _Sehlat." _

T'Lar growled, "I wish to speak to Llahir. Now!"

Archer looked reproving. "Commander, I speak with no intent to offend, but your tone of voice is fraught with emotion. Perhaps some additional meditation this evening would be of benefit. I will of course deliver your message to Agent Llahir at my next convenient opportunity."

T'Lar closed her eyes and began reciting the Disciplines to herself. It was imperative that she maintain control above other considerations. She felt pressure on her forearm and looked down to see Senek's forefinger pressing against her sleeve. Ordinarily such an intrusion would be just cause for umbrage, but a glance at the solemn expression on his face convinced her to let it pass. She settled back and locked her teeth together, determined to let the Security Directorate handle this one.

"What of the unidentified Vulcan from the shuttle, Captain Archer?" Senek persisted. "I am afraid that we must insist on having her returned. We cannot permit a Vulcan citizen to be held against her will."

Archer leaned back in his chair and looked satisfied. "Thank you, Agent Senek. This conversation is being recorded, of course. The mistake you just made will prove that we were correct and justified."

"What could you possibly mean, Captain?" Senek asked. "Vulcan law is quite clear on the subject."

"But I never mentioned the gender of the person that we retrieved from the shuttle," Archer replied. "You just referred to the individual in question as 'her', proving that you already knew the identity of the Romulan prisoner before we ever began talking."

Senek froze. "In any case," Archer continued, "it is irrelevant since we have no intention of surrendering the Romulan Commander to you or anyone else. Nor will we permit you to take the remains of the shuttle away from us. Not without a fight. It would be pointless for you to try in any case. Starfleet is already aware that Romulans are descended from Vulcan renegades."

#

T'Riss sat hunched over in her seat and refused to look up. Three sets of eyes pinned her in appalled disbelief. Through the still open comm, the conversation that Daniel was monitoring continued.

"_An interesting assertion, to be sure, Captain. Do you have any proof?"_

"_Why, yes, Agent Senek. We do have proof. One source of proof is sitting in our brig. Another source of proof is sitting in our guest quarters. Yet another is sitting in our shuttle bay. Then there is the unmistakable similarity between the Romulan language and ancient Vulcan."_

"A hundred years." Daniel whispered it. "A hundred freakin' years your people have been hiding this from us. We were supposed to be ALLIES!" T'Riss flinched.

"Lad." Jenrali snapped. "Stop it. She didn't do it." Daniel shook his head and looked away.

"I..." her voice was very soft. "I did not know this myself until only a very short time ago. Truly I did not. Almost none of my people know this."

Archer's voice resumed.

_"Starfleet Intelligence found the information particularly interesting. I am under orders from the highest levels of my government to forward any and all data we are able to collect regarding this matter directly to Earth immediately." _

"The Guard is going to find it interesting too," Sehlra muttered.

To Be Continued in Episode Nine.


	9. Chapter 9a

**The **_**Lerteiran **_**Chronicles**

**Episode Nine: Lessons in Practical Diplomacy**

**By Blacknblue and Distracted**

**Genre: Action Adventure and romance**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Disclaimer: We don't own the Star Trek universe. We just go there to play. Honest. **

**We do, however, own our original characters and story ideas. You are welcome to borrow them, as long as no money changes hands. If we can't make anything from this, nobody else gets to either.**

**Summary: Daniel and T'Riss explore the ramifications of Human/Vulcan relations aboard the Lerteiran, Jonathan Archer deals with his own deficits in interpersonal skills and, on the Sehlat, Senek and Raiji****in offer Damin a job. **

######################################################################

"Does everyone in the quadrant know about the Romulans being ex-Vulcans except us?" demanded Daniel as he sat at tactical on the bridge of the _Lertieran_. "The Orions have to know it. They do business with the Romulans. And the Klingons are right next door to them. If the Klingons don't know they're blind. Only Vulcan's closest allies aren't allowed to know things like this, I guess."

At the co-pilot's station, T'Riss turned her head away, at a loss to explain Daniel's sudden anger. After their conversation the previous evening, she'd thought that they were beginning to establish a rapport. Now she was wary of even looking at him, he seemed so volatile. It was understandable that he would feel threatened by not having complete information about a potential enemy, she supposed, but he was acting as if the revelation of the Romulans' kinship to Vulcan were a personal betrayal.

Thoughtful silence reigned in the control room for a while. Then Daniel shook his head and keyed several commands. "_Sehlat_ has gone to warp." He paused. "Now, _Enterprise_."

"All hands and passengers brace for warp," Jenrali announced over the com. After his last unannounced set of maneuvers three of the eight remaining paying passengers had demanded a transfer to the _Sehlat,_ a refund of their fares, and reimbursement for their medical bills, leaving _Lertieran_ with only five of fourteen available passenger berths occupied. Bringing finances into the picture had made the captain slightly more conscientious of the welfare of others.

Nevertheless, by sheer conditioned reflex Daniel and Sehlra grabbed for the nearest solid anchors and held on with death grips at his announcement. It wasn't really necessary anymore. Daniel had recently informed T'Riss that, after all the retrofitting and engine tuning lately, _Lerteiran_ no longer fell into warp "like a watermelon dropped onto a sidewalk". Now, she slid into warp "with the smooth grace of a walrus wallowing its way into the surf". He, at least, was of the opinion that this was a tremendous improvement.

"Lad," Jenrali ordered, "hail the Vulcan ship and get a check on Damin. Make sure he's all right. We still have his money, you know. That makes him our passenger, and our responsibility."

"Yep," Daniel responded crisply. He didn't look in Sehlra's direction while he got busy. "I have contact with _Sehlat,_" he announced. Daniel spoke rapidly for a moment in fluent Vulcan, then waited. Then he made a few more brief remarks, followed by more waiting. His brow furrowed. "T'Riss? Would you talk to these people? They won't let me speak to Damin. They claim I'm 'not authorized to speak to him'. But they won't say why not." T'Riss nodded and made the connection to her own mic without looking at him. He still appeared distracted, his tone abrupt. He was without a doubt still angry. She ignored him and began negotiations with the _Sehlat, _noting with unease how both of the Andorians' antennae lay back in preparation for battle.

"That doesn't sound good, lad," Jenrali rumbled. "Why would they be holding him?"

"Leverage to use on the Humans," Sehlra snarled. "Why else?"

"This is annoying. Politics is not my thing," grumbled Daniel while T'Riss listened intently to her headset . "I don't mind a stand up fight, where you know who you're facing and it's him against you, but damn this shadow boxing with words and blackmail."

"You speak for us all, boy," Sehlra seethed. "Those greenbloods are going to regret this."

"It seems," T'Riss told them, pulling away from the mic, "that Damin is in sickbay being checked for injuries following the battle aboard the shuttle. No one is being permitted access to him except medical personnel and command officers."

"Oh." Daniel looked embarrassed. "I never thought of that. Sorry."

"How badly is he hurt?" Sehlra asked, not even trying to hide her concern.

"I was unable to obtain a complete report," T'Riss told her. "But I was told that he is expected to make a complete recovery." Sehlra nodded acknowledgment, looking relieved. Daniel reached up and put a hand on hers where it was resting on his shoulder as she stood behind his chair, provoking a grateful smile from the old Andorian woman. T'Riss, observing the interaction, found it intimately familial rather than merely cordial, and suddenly understood the motivation behind Sehlra's matchmaking obsession. Evidently her previous concern regarding Daniel's treatment by the Andorians was unnecessarily pessimistic. Getting in Sehlra's good graces suddenly became an even higher priority than before. After all, one must always attempt to please the mother of one's future spouse - in the interest of family harmony if for no other reason. "Presumably he will be allowed visitors once his condition improves,"she said.

"Sounds good," Daniel said with a sigh, rotating away from his station and addressing the control room at large. "I'm going for coffee. Anybody want…" He turned to stand. Abruptly, his features twisted in pain. "Oh shit! Not again!" By grabbing his console with one hand and the back of his chair with the other, he managed to keep from hitting the floor this time, but just barely. T'Riss immediately rose from her station to assist Sehlra. Between the two of them, they managed to maneuver him back into the chair, whereupon he rested his forehead atop his forearms on his console, trying his best to curl into a tight ball.

Sehlra snorted. "Look here, old man. Examine your handiwork. You've crippled the boy."

"Please, Sehlra," Daniel begged with his face in his arms. "Stop saying that. With all the trouble I've caused lately, you're gonna convince him that I'm more trouble than I'm worth." Her face softened and she shook her head.

"Nah, lad," Jenrali agreed. "It's not like you went looking for it. The only times you messed up were when you were drunk on that Orion whore's fumes, and nobody can help their biochemistry." He smiled. "Remember that time the insulation caught fire and both of us passed out? If Humans didn't have a better air filtering system in their heads we would all be dead. But you stayed up long enough to get the extinguisher going. It all evens out."

"Now, let's get you back to bed," said Sehlra in a businesslike tone. Daniel only whimpered once as T'Riss hoisted him over her shoulders with Sehlra's assistance and carried him off.

T'Riss felt him stiffen as she descended the ladder. She quietly advised, "It might be less painful if you could relax."

He grunted and responded, "It might be less humiliating if I weren't being carried by a woman half my size." T'Riss concluded that there was no logical response to this, and therefore offered none. They proceeded the rest of the way to Daniel's cabin in silence. She opened the hatch and carried him to his bunk, where she deposited him as carefully as if she were putting down an infant in the crèche. Even so, he grimaced in pain.

"I will apply additional medication," she said. "Please remove your shirt and turn over." He had reported to the control room wearing only a pair of loose shorts and a t-shirt. Daniel nodded and T'Riss turned toward his table for the cream, but when she turned back Daniel was still wearing his shirt. His hands were on the hem, but the garment was only halfway up his torso and he was wearing a disconcerted expression.

"I can't get it off," he admitted shamefacedly. "I can't raise my arms." T'Riss studied him. He was now completely non-functional. Objectively, she supposed that her primary concern should now be for the _Lertieran's _operational efficiency. The ship was not designed to function with only two crew members capable of fully manning its stations. She, herself, although qualified aboard a Vulcan vessel, was not familiar with Andorian technology and was not capable of performing all of Daniel's duties.

Instead, concern for Daniel's personal wellbeing was paramount in her mind, almost as if he were a member of her own family. _Being a bonded mate must feel like this, _she thought, unsure of whether that was a good thing or not. Her memories of the abuse-triggered bond with Grigor-Tel weren't good measures of normalcy, but it seemed premature for her to be experiencing such an attachment.

"You may well require medical intervention beyond Sehlra's training, but for now we can at least ease your discomfort," she told him. "I will remove your shirt." She leaned over the bunk and started tugging the garment upward along his torso. Since he was still lying on it, T'Riss found it necessary to stretch across Daniel's chest in order to work both sides of the shirt upward. This left her in the position of pressing herself firmly against him while looking directly into his eyes. T'Riss began pulling at his shirt and twisting herself back and forth to gradually work it up the length of his chest. She noted that perspiration was forming on Daniel's face and his breathing rhythm changed when she did this. "Am I causing you pain?" she asked him.

"No," he croaked. "Not... pain...," he gasped. "I-, I'm fine."

T'Riss sat back on the edge of the bed beside him and searched for the source of his distress. His face was flushed. When he pulled the edge of the bedding hurriedly into his lap and gave her a sheepish smile she felt her face go warm and one brow go up. _Sehlra said sexual stimulation would bind him to me, _she reminded herself. Apparently, even incidental physical contact was efficacious. Fascinating.Fortunately, he was in no condition to do anything about it but lie there like an infant.

T'Riss cleared her throat and drew on her experiences in the crèche. "Now we must turn you over," she told him soothingly, as if speaking to a small child. He gave her a look of exasperation and started to roll. As soon as Daniel began to move he emitted a sharp sound and rolled back with his teeth bared in an intimidating snarl. T'Riss flinched in spite of her best intentions. Those teeth really did appear quite sharp. She recalled reading that Human front teeth were serrated, like a kitchen knife, and were capable of inflicting dangerous wounds.

In a moment Daniel's face smoothed and his breathing steadied. "Can you please help me?" he whispered. T'Riss moved closer and slid her hands under him. Again she pressed herself against him, noting with an inward thrill how a shiver ran across his skin. Together they got him to his side, then T'Riss reached around and finished rolling him to his belly. "Thanks," Daniel told her weakly.

"I am here to serve," she told him softly. "It is my duty and my desire to care for you." Placing her nose in close proximity to him was singularly stimulating. Although Daniel's odor was not strong enough to be objectionable, he had not showered for several hours. The musky scent of a Human male was evident and not displeasing. Humans were evidently one of the tiny minority of races who produced pheromones capable of influencing Vulcan physiology. This was yet another unlooked for but most welcome reason for considering Daniel as a potential mate.

She smeared some of the medicated cream between her hands to warm it, then began spreading it over his back as she'd done before. He gasped, then went limp. T'Riss climbed onto the bunk and settled herself astride the backs of Daniel's thighs, where she could get the leverage to press firmly along the full length of his spine.

"Oh, my lord," Daniel's voice was almost inaudible. "That feels incredible. Thank you. Thankyouthankyou."

T'Riss started automatically to tell him that thanks were not necessary. Then she reconsidered. "You are welcome. As I told you, I am here to serve." She paused at his lower lumbar area and concentrated on spreading the cream in circles at the top of his buttocks for a moment. Daniel whimpered and she allowed herself an inward smile.

After a few more moments of silence punctuated by the occasional wordless sigh, Daniel told her, "I'm sorry about what I said earlier."

T'Riss continued rubbing while she considered this. "Are you referring to your remark about being carried?"

"Huh? No," Daniel started to turn his head, then apparently reconsidered the idea. "I meant when I, you know, started ranting in the control room. About the Romulan thing."

She scooped up another handful of cream. "Your frustration is understandable. I hope you believed me when I said that I only learned of this recently. At that time I was ordered to maintain silence, since the information was classified."

Daniel vented an inarticulate growl that reminded her of the pet sehlat her family had when she was very small. Actually, she reflected, when taking into account his teeth and the density of his body hair, the similarities to her childhood pet were beginning to accumulate.

"Everything on Vulcan is classified," Daniel griped. "Everything about Vulcan, everything known to Vulcans, everything made by Vulcans, everything ever done or seen by Vulcans is classified to Humans. Apparently the rest of the galaxy is welcome to any and all of it." He subsided, leaving T'Riss to wonder at the definite note of hurt in his tone.

"Your statement is factually inaccurate," she told him reproachfully and drew her hands back. "I am surprised that you could have lived on Vulcan for several years and still hold such opinions of us."

Daniel froze for a moment, then he flattened out with a sigh. "You're right. I'm sorry. Again." T'Riss waited, but he did not elaborate.

"Your apology is accepted," she finally said. "But I confess to being confused. This issue seems to offend you. May I ask why? I acknowledge that I concealed this information from you in compliance with direct orders from my superiors, but if and when we became mates I would be forced to reassess my priorities in such matters. I was most strictly taught by my parents that secrets between bonded mates inevitably breed friction."

Daniel started and half turned his head. "Are you serious? Couldn't they court-martial you for that? Or whatever the equivalent is?"

T'Riss sighed. "Irrelevant. Family loyalty is paramount to a Vulcan. Surely you know that much about our people." Daniel nodded slowly. "In any case, if there is any matter in which I cannot trust my bonded mate, then we have no business forming a bond."

The Human male beneath her began to struggle with turning over. "It may be unwise for you to move," she warned him. He ignored her, grunting with pain and effort until he had managed to make it to his side where he could meet her eyes.

"You're absolutely right, you know," Daniel said. "I hadn't bothered to analyze it that far. But it's the reason I got so upset."

"I don't understand," T'Riss told him.

"Family loyalty," Daniel said cryptically. "That's why I got so upset. See, I don't have any real family. The Nausicans killed my family when I was very small. Our ship was hit by raiders and my parents just barely had time to get me into a lifepod and get it launched. No one else on the ship survived. I drifted for several days before I was found."

T'Riss struggled to internalize her reaction to this, focusing inward on the Disciplines and counting the rhythms of her breathing. This explained many things about her potential mate, not the least being his enthusiastic reaction to every opportunity to engage in combat against Nausicans.

Daniel continued. "Usually when something like that happens, another Boomer family adopts the kid. But I was sent to an orphanage on Earth for a while. Then I got a berth on a trader, but I just didn't fit in. Culture shock I suppose." He looked at her. "They were a lot like a Vulcan family, to tell the truth. Tight knit, strong emphasis on obedience and duty to the clan, things like that. I was too independently minded for them, I guess. It didn't help that the captain's daughter and I got sort of attracted to each other and he didn't think I was good enough." Daniel chuckled painfully. "After the bruises healed I applied for a student exchange program on Vulcan. A family there offered to host me. They ended up becoming my foster family for five years." He stopped and looked thoughtful. "Until I bought into _Lerteiran_, they were the closest thing to a real family I had. It hurt to think they might be hiding this."

"You lived on Vulcan for _five years_?" asked T'Riss in disbelief.

Daniel sighed and closed his eyes. "Not really. They were just my home base between trips on freighters here and there. I'd ship out for six months or so under an apprentice contract. Then something would happen or the captain wouldn't need the help anymore, and I'd end up back in port in the custody of the local authorities since I was still a minor. My friend Stern's father was the director of the Shi'Kahr Port Authority, so I suppose it fell to him to corral me when I was between assignments. He sent me to school with his kids…bought me clothes and fed me. Stuff like that."

"A Vulcan family accepted responsibility for your care? They must have considered you worthy of their trust," said T'Riss. She gestured that he should roll back face-down. He complied with a groan and she started on his back again.

"Yeah. I guess. Or at least I used to think so." T'Riss gave no reply. There was nothing else to say. Either they'd trusted him or they hadn't, and at this point there was no way for him to find out short of accusing all of them of lying to him for years.

"It is unlikely that they are aware of the Romulans' link to Vulcan," T'Riss assured him. "Unless one of them was a member of the High Command?" Daniel shook his head. "In that case, no. This knowledge is not available to the general populace on Vulcan." He nodded.

T'Riss resumed her massage. After a time she moved her hands to his ribs, gently digging in and working her way upward. "There is a Vulcan technique," she told him, changing the subject, "called neuropressure. It involves applying pressure in proper sequence to the appropriate neural nodes. Perhaps it might be of benefit for your discomfort."

"Neural nodes?" Daniel asked. "What the heck are neural nodes? Do you mean nerve clusters?"

"That would be a functionally equivalent description," T'Riss agreed. "By applying pressure at the correct points, we can induce the body to expedite healing."

"We do the same kind of thing," said Daniel. "Called accu-pressure. There's supposed to be a diagram of the Human body showing all the major pressure points and what each one does, but I don't know where you'd find one."

T'Riss paused in surprise. "Your people have an equivalent technique?" Her lips twitched upward a bit before she caught herself and suppressed the impending smile. The news was most agreeable. "Perhaps the doctor on _Enterprise_ could provide me with information about it," she told him. A sense of pleasurable warmth rose within her as she resumed running her hands over him. The cream was almost gone. She debated whether to obtain more. The texture of his skin under her palms was appealing, and Daniel was not indicating displeasure at the activity—to the contrary, in fact. T'Riss realized that her previous trepidation at physical contact with a male had not surfaced during this episode. She felt no fear or discomfort at all. In fact, the contact was inducing pleasant responses, both physical and emotional.

She quickly brought herself up short. Tyvek had warned her. She must be wary at all times. Her own responses were her enemy now. Without constant vigilance, she might easily fall into the trap of losing control if given the slightest excuse. She clamped her teeth and dismounted from Daniel's legs, standing beside his bed.

"The medication had soaked in for now. I will leave you to you rest," she told him shortly. She turned and made for the door, ignoring his outstretched hand. As she passed she heard Daniel asking, "T'Riss. What's wro-?" His voice was cut off by the closing hatch. She paused and fell against the bulkhead, breathing hard.

#

T'Lar finished dictating the statement for delivery to the Human ship and affixed her thumbprint, seething internally. She laid it on her desk with more force than was strictly necessary and leaned back in her chair, trying with little success to relax the muscles in her jaw. She was beginning to develop an extraordinarily negative attitude toward Humans generally, and toward one Human captain in particular.

_It is illogical to blame an entire species for the behavior of a single individual,_ T'Lar reminded herself. _It is quite possible that there are some Humans in the galaxy who are not pathologically annoying. Merely because you have not encountered them is no proof that they do not exist. _

The comm chimed, and T'Lar reached over to acknowledge it.

_"Commander. Fleet Command has responded. Admiral Stosen is on the line." _

"Acknowledged." T'Lar straightened in her chair and double checked her uniform. Then she activated the screen. "Admiral," she greeted the elderly face on the screen. Admiral Stosen was one of the few old guard officers to survive T'Pau's purge of the High Command. He was as hard as granite, brutally logical, scrupulously equitable, and utterly lacking in mercy.

_"Commander T'Lar. Your report is unsatisfactory in the extreme. Explain how it is that the Humans have discovered the truth of Romulan origins."_

T'Lar resolutely refused to flinch. "By report from Commander T'Pol, the Humans learned of this due to residual memories carried by Captain Archer following his time of bearing Surak's katra." She had the secret satisfaction of watching the old man actually blink. Whatever excuse he had been expecting, that wasn't it. After a few seconds he spoke again.

_"Do you believe this assertion, Commander? It seems more probable that Commander T'Pol revealed the information and is fabricating this report as a means of protecting herself from charges of treason." _

T'Lar considered this. "Admiral," she said slowly. "I was not present during the recovery of the Kirshara. I did not witness Captain Archer's behavior, and I cannot state of my own knowledge whether or not he did in fact show evidence of bearing the katra. Commander T'Pol was present, as was High Minister T'Pau. I have read statements from both of them which assert that the katra exists and that Archer carried it. Given my lack of first hand data, I am not qualified to refute the assertion."

Stosen's temples tightened, probably for the first time in eighty years.

_"Are you capable of extrapolating the probable results of this revelation, Commander?" _

"Yes, Admiral," she told him, "I believe I can. I request direction regarding my best course of action in this matter."

Stosen brooded for a moment.

_"Logically, there was nothing else you could have done if Archer was already in possession of the information. Your attempt to retrieve the Romulan prisoner was in compliance with your standing orders, although it was carried out in a most clumsy fashion. Given your youth this is only predictable. It is to your credit that you made the effort at least." _

T'Lar kept her mouth shut, but with difficulty.

_"For future reference, when dealing with Humans a more subtle approach generally has __a greater likelihood of success. For now, the best outcome we can hope to obtain would be to share in the intelligence that the Humans will extract from their prisoner and the captured ships. You will negotiate this."_

T'Lar swallowed hard. "Understood, Admiral." _Suicide is not an option. Murder is not an option. Changing careers is not an option._ "I will contact Captain Archer to begin negotiations. Be advised that he is unlikely to share anything without demanding reciprocal concessions."

_"Understood. You are authorized to share any of our current or historical data on the Romulans. If he demands additional concessions, contact Fleet Command for further orders. Stosen out." _

#

Jonathan Archer stepped into sickbay with his teeth clenched and his chin held high. He felt the need to meditate so acutely it made his bones ache, but there was no time. Observation of the non-verbal interactions between members of his senior staff, in conjunction with remarks recently made by his First Officer, led to the logical conclusion that he was about to have his command judgment questioned. In fact, there was even the possibility of a formal complaint. It would of course be unreasonable to resort to the extreme of filing a Notice of Grievance under Section 2, Subsection 5, paragraph 9, but T'Pol's logic had been less than fully rigorous of late. It was not impossible that she might permit recent events to push her into such an overreaction.

The logical course of action was to have Dr. Phlox perform an evaluation. Once the ship's medical officer had certified him fit for command, the concerns of his first officer would be laid to rest and they could all get back to concentrating on the mission. It was a waste of time and energy, but Jonathan did not really begrudge it. The recent confrontation with Trip had unsettled him deeply and forced some intense soul searching. He had come to realize that Trip's accusations carried some justification. He really had allowed himself to become isolated from the emotional needs of his crew. This had to change. If taking the time for a brief examination would quiet their concerns and bring them peace of mind, it was a small price to pay. He felt confident that Surak would have understood and approved as well.

Archer had reviewed his decisions during the recent tactical encounter. There had been no other reasonable course of action available to him. Locking weapons on a confirmed ally wasn't an ideal response, but it had been ultimately necessary and justified. Hadn't the _Sehlat_ beamed a boarding party to _Enterprise_ for the purpose of kidnapping? No matter what standing orders T'Lar might have been given, nothing justified an unprovoked raid on an allied vessel. Jonathan had certainly not intended to fire on the Vulcan vessel; his ship was by no means equipped to handle a D'Kyr. But it was necessary to illustrate Human resolve. Vulcans instinctively disrespected weakness. T'Pol should realize that, of all people.

Of course, no matter what the value of the intelligence eventually to be gleaned from the captive Romulan and her shuttle, Starfleet Command wouldn't hesitate to court-martial him if his methods for obtaining that intelligence resulted in armed conflict with the Vulcans. And that was assuming that he―and the men and women under his care―would still be alive after a head-to-head battle with a D'Kyr cruiser, an outcome which was far from certain. No, he had certainly hoped that T'Lar would not call his bluff. And it had worked; she hadn't.

Once, his people would have had enough faith in him to trust his judgment. Once, they would have known that he wasn't going to commit suicide and take them with him. But that was before he had lost connection with his crew. It was imperative that he renew it.

Phlox turned from a console displaying images of the occupant of the isolation chamber, a deceptively harmless appearing middle-aged woman who was bandaged, unconscious and in restraints. Around him, critically injured refugees too unstable for the makeshift stretchers in the cargo bay filled every available biobed. Discordant beeping from lifesign monitors filled the room. The patients occupying the biobeds were being turned and fed by people Archer had never seen before, most sporting bandages and minor injuries themselves. The doctor's manner was grim, and he looked exhausted.

"Captain."

"What have you got for me, Doctor?"

Phlox reached to another console and brought up whole body scan images and what looked to Archer like DNA comparison charts.

"There are no significant anatomic or genomic differences I can detect between our captive and the average Vulcan, Captain," he began in a subdued voice. "If this is a Romulan, the original population which separated itself from Vulcan must have been composed of thousands of individuals. Otherwise, the inbreeding necessary to maintain a viable population would have resulted in identifiable genetic drift."

"Thousands? How many thousands?" inquired Archer, studying the images, which meant very little to him, and wondering about the impact the loss of so many people would have had on Vulcan society. How could they have kept such a thing secret for so many centuries?

"I'm not certain. At least fifty thousand given the time elapsed, assuming the 'Time of Sundering' referenced in the Vulcan database refers to this event and not only to the nuclear war which was occurring at the same time, perhaps many more," replied Phlox.

_The war…it was the war, _Archer thought. The war had destroyed their communications and their governmental structure. Society was in chaos. Once the dust had cleared, who in the general population could have been certain which of their neighbors had died in the war and which had chosen to leave? And then the remnant rebuilt Vulcan to Surak's specifications.

"So the differences are entirely cultural and environmental, then," Archer told him.

"Evidently―or else you're mistaken regarding the origin of the prisoner," retorted Phlox. The doctor's expression lacked his usual pleasant friendliness. If anything, Phlox seemed to be studying him in the same way he'd study an interesting clinical challenge―only with more than a trace of suspicion. The implications were disturbing.

"T'Pol confirmed it, and so did our new guest," Archer told him. "Besides, according to Surak's memories, a group of renegade Vulcans who called themselves the Declared Ones left Vulcan during the war. They were led by an apostate follower of Surak named S'Task. Surak thought of them as 'those who march under the raptor's wings'. Did you see the bird design that was etched on the bottom of that Romulan ship? Or the bird design that was everywhere on the pictures that Trip and Malcolm brought back from the probe?"

"I didn't get a chance to look at any of that," Phlox admitted. He seemed thoughtful, as if he were remembering something.

"When will she be conscious?" Archer asked.

"So you can question her," said Phlox without a question in his voice. Archer nodded once, saying nothing, awaiting the information. A verbal response was unnecessary. Phlox's eyes narrowed. He was silent for several seconds, and then said, "I'm not certain. She's lost a lot of blood and she's in shock, likely from a combination of the stun blasts used to subdue her, her head wound, and the third degree disruptor burns on her right arm. She's stable for now, but all I can do is administer fluids and vasopressors until we rendezvous with the hospital ship. Under the circumstances I doubt the commander of the _Sehlat _will be willing to share supplies." There was definite disapproval in his voice.

"And if I order you to wake her?" Archer pressed in a calm voice.

"The attempt would kill her," replied Phlox flatly. Archer sighed, and nodded his understanding. He turned back to study the images the doctor had provided, but he could feel the Denobulan's eyes on him. He felt like a science experiment. Someone, probably T'Pol, had no doubt already asked the doctor to formulate an opinion regarding his behavior. Perhaps Jonathan Archer didn't know as much as he should have known about the man who was his chief medical officer. Doctor Phlox was a singularly private man for one so garrulous. But Archer was certain of one thing. Once a puzzle was presented to Phlox, he would never willingly lay it aside until he'd solved it.

"Doctor, may I ask you a question?"

Phlox raised a brow and said nothing, waiting. It was so unlike his usual voluble response that Archer began to suspect the doctor of mocking him.

"Has anyone on board this ship approached you with concerns about my recent behavior?" asked Archer. Phlox's brows went up in surprise. He gave Archer a considering look.

"If someone had, what would be your response?" he countered. Archer sighed, and felt his lips curve in the trace of a self-deprecating smile.

"I would have to say I understand their concerns," was his response. Phlox's look of suspicion turned to one of dawning relief.

"In the interest of reassuring everyone, would you be willing to give me a complete physical and psych evaluation?"

#

Damin was sitting on the edge of an exam table waiting to be discharged when Senek entered _Sehlat's_ crowded sickbay. The boy had numerous superficial cuts and abrasions but appeared relatively uninjured for someone who'd survived Romulan captivity, at least in Senek's experience.

"No, put him in bed six," Tyvek called to the two burly security guards carrying the stretcher holding the last of the refugees transported from _Enterprise _before the recent confrontation. More were likely not forthcoming, leaving over seventy-five percent of the injured in the care of the Humans. Senek wondered if the Human captain had even considered the safety of the refugees when he'd made his provocative statements to Commander T'Lar. Or perhaps he'd been fully aware of the deterrent value of innocent civilians, and had counted on their presence aboard his vessel to temper her response.

Tyvek approached Senek. "I understand that you're to provide security escort for the Betazoid," he told the agent brusquely. His eyes cut to Damin, who was sitting across the room with an open and innocent air about him, looking around like a curious child. Tyvek continued under his breath, "You should be aware that he is not what he appears to be. He is not fully Betazoid, nor is he as young as he looks, and I've never seen such activity within the telepathic centers of the brain in any individual…except perhaps Raijiin…" Senek raised an ironic brow. At least the healer now had a healthy respect for what telepaths could do. Tyvek's voice trailed off as he glanced warily at Damin. "He could be extremely dangerous."

Senek nodded once. "I am aware of the danger, Healer Tyvek, but your information will no doubt be of interest to my superiors. You may transmit the results of your evaluation directly to my quarters." Tyvek tipped his head in acquiescence, showing no outward evidence of discomfort at this deviation from usual ship's security protocols.

"As you wish, Agent Senek."

"And his injuries? Does he require further treatment?" Senek inquired.

"He shows evidence of some rather primitive methods of physical torture… superficial lacerations, burns, small areas of skin cut away, that sort of thing. No life threatening injuries. And he's had a neural shock stick used on him repeatedly in the recent past. Nothing that requires surgical treatment," replied Tyvek, somewhat callously, in Senek's opinion.

"And his mental state?" ventured Senek, eyeing the young man, who was at that moment smiling charmingly at the young female Tellarite lying in spinal traction in the bed next to his exam table. She smiled back and blushed prettily―for a Tellarite.

"He appears remarkably resilient. All of the usual standardized questionnaires score low risk for psychiatric sequelae," returned Tyvek.

_Resilient, or is he just giving you the answers you want so you'll let him out of here? _wondered Senek. "Excellent work, Healer," he said, and stepped past Tyvek as the man straightened with poorly concealed pride. Senek's lips quirked slightly as he walked across the chamber. To his continual amusement, Senek had discovered over the years that despite Surak's teachings even Vulcans often responded favorably to a well-placed boost of the ego. A pompous fool was a pompous fool, no matter what his planet of origin.

Senek met Damin's eyes as he approached the exam table where the young man was seated with his feet dangling. Damin slipped from the table gracefully and offered the ta'al.

"Peace and long life…and my profound gratitude for the rescue," he said in Vulcan, seriously and with all sincerity. Senek, taken aback, returned the gesture.

"Live long and prosper… and our healer tells me that your recent captivity should not hamper you in that regard," he replied. Damin offered a brief bitter smile, more revealing than any of his behavior thus far.

"I've certainly experienced worse," he replied. His eyes cut to the occupants of the beds in sickbay. "And how can I complain about success?"

Of course. Had it not been for this man's willingness to place himself in harm's way, none of the refugees would still be alive. The fifty percent recovery rate they'd achieved, amounting to 27 living persons once the deaths due to injury had been accounted for, was certainly by any measure a success compared to the alternative.

"Indeed," agreed Senek. "Come. I'll show you to your quarters, and then I'd like to discuss an employment opportunity with you," he said.

Damin smiled. "Since my current contract is effectively complete, I am willing to listen. But please understand that I am committed to meeting family on Risa."

"Certainly," Senek gestured toward the door and then fell in beside the younger man. "In fact, that will correlate perfectly with our needs. Once you hear my proposal I believe you will agree that a mutually satisfactory arrangement can be achieved."

#

"You are quite insane." Damin spoke flatly, as if stating a proven fact. "I have long suspected that you were unstable, but this proves it." He crossed his arms over his chest and stared Raijiin down as she faced him across the table in the sitting room of the double quarters she shared with Senek. Dressed in a regulation ship's jumpsuit without insignia, with his newly acquired bruises and scrapes and an uncompromising expression on his face, the Betazoid looked less of a pretty boy and more of a man to Raijiin. His shoulder length black curls, shining and well-groomed as always, spoiled the tough guy image a bit, but he was just the person to get that bloodthirsty Andorian engineer to cooperate.

"Now wait, Damin," Raijiin protested. "Hear us out. It isn't as extreme as it sounds. I'll be surgically altered to appear Vulcan, and I'll never emerge from the cargo hold unless it's absolutely required." To her frustration, Senek had not joined them at the table. He was preparing tea, of all things. She could feel his presence in the back of her mind, and though no thoughts were exchanged she understood his reticence. This mission would be her first as a Vulcan agent. As the junior ranking member of the team it would be her responsibility to deal with Damin, a civilian contractor. Senek was attempting to make the situation clear to Damin by stepping aside to allow the two of them to interact. There was silence for several seconds while their guest and prospective ally pondered the information she'd just given him.

"Surgically altered or not, you could not possibly alter your scent enough to disguise yourself from T'Riss," Damin pointed out. "She would recognize you the first time she encountered you. One word from her to Sehlra or either of the males and you would be dead meat – and the rest of us as well for bringing you aboard. If you think anyone aboard _Lerteiran_ would hesitate for a breath to kill you, think again. Jenrali hates Vulcans with a cold passion, and Sehlra loves Daniel like a son. Both of them have killed before, many times. What's four more? And the only things that kept Daniel from your throat last time were his unwillingness to defy Jenrali's command and that remarkably flexible Human moral code."

Raijiin shivered. Senek stepped forward with the tea service, set it on the table between them, and said in a calm voice, "Crewman T'Riss is in service to the Vulcan fleet. The fact that she is on detached service at the moment does not negate her oath of obedience. She will obey orders. None of the other three are equipped to penetrate the disguise that Agent Raijiin will be wearing." He placed three delicately translucent teacups on the table and matter-of-factly began to pour. "All we require, Mr. Damin, is your assistance in persuading the crew of _Lerteiran_ to accept us as passengers to Risa. Then, once we arrive on Risa, I have been authorized to negotiate with the designated representative of your father's House in this sector regarding transportation onward to Vulcan. We intend neither harm nor distress to anyone."

Damin looked doubtful. "I understand that you want to get Llahir back to Vulcan as fast as possible for debriefing. I can even see why you don't want to wait for the medical transports to complete their task, and there is no way to predict when the D'Kyrs will be ready to return. But why can't you just ask _Enterprise_ for a lift? The Humans shouldn't mind a small detour. Risa isn't that far out of their way."

Raijiin coughed and turned away to avoid looking at Senek's expression. The agent struggled to formulate a reply while Damin looked increasingly curious. Raijiin felt him probing her shields and tightened down firmly. No doubt Senek was doing the same. Finally the old Vulcan said, "There have been some minor points of friction with the Humans recently. It is believed that avoiding contact as much as possible is the best course of action for the present." He avoided Damin's gaze, took a seat at the table, and reached for a steaming cup, raising it to his lips.

"What did you do?" Damin wanted to know.

"Why do you think we did anything?" Raijiin demanded indignantly.

"Because," Damin pointed out reasonably, "You wouldn't be avoiding the Humans unless the Humans were irritated. And the Humans wouldn't be irritated unless the Vulcans had done something." She sighed her way into a chuckle and shook her head. Then she reached for a cup, took a sip, made a face, and reached for the sweetener.

"The Humans have captured your mother," she told him while stirring. His eyes widened and a broad grin broke over his face. Choking laughter fought its way out of his chest as he leaned back in his chair. Then he reached for the teacup in front of him, raised it as if in salute to Human ingenuity, and took a healthy swallow. His grimace echoed Raijiin's and he began to cough. She watched him in concern but didn't touch him. Something warned her to be cautious. The deep midnight black of his pupils seemed to swallow her. The sensation was completely different from her connection with Senek. She felt as if she were falling.

_I am all right, _he said without speaking, surprising her. Telepathic communication had always been wordless for her before she'd met Senek, a fleeting exchange of emotions and ideas. Touch made the images clearer, but never this clear. And she hadn't touched him. Within the words she sensed a background of intense ironic amusement and a tinge of angry satisfaction. Damin was not very fond of his mother.

After a few moments Damin tapered off into occasional spasms of hilarity. "That is... that is the most beautiful thing I have ever heard in my life..." he gasped, still grinning. "Thank you, dear. You have made me a happy man."

"It is agreeable that we are able to brighten your day," Senek said dryly. "Unfortunately, it is a violation of standing orders to permit the Humans to retain possession of a Romulan prisoner or Romulan hardware. Commander T'Lar's efforts at retrieval were unsuccessful and came perilously close to resulting in open battle between _Sehlat_ and _Enterprise_. We are currently going to extreme lengths to avoid escalating the situation further."

Damin grunted. "I could have told you that there were limits to Human patience, and I've only been around them for a brief time. How is it that you weren't aware of this yourselves? After a full century, you should have a clear idea of how far they can be pushed."

"The Commander is quite young," Senek explained. "When the fleet was purged following the removal of the V'Las administration, our supply of experienced officers was depleted. I was not consulted prior to the attempt, and it is not my place to offer unsolicited advice concerning a fleet matter."

Damin shot him a wry glance with a twisted mouth. "I'm certain it's not." Senek's expression was skeptical. "Really. I believe you," Damin said. "So you can't beg a ride from the Humans, and you can't afford to wait for your own ships to haul you back home…and you want me to lie for you."

"Essentially, yes," Raijiin smiled sweetly. "Would you mind terribly?"

"It's going to cost you," Damin said. "Massively."

"That is only to be expected," Senek told him.

#

Jenrali's voice on the comm cut through the fog of sleep.

"_Time to wake up, lad. Your shift starts in fifteen. Sehlra has you on light duty in the engine room today, so she can keep an eye on you. Start jumping!" _

"I'm up! I'm up." Daniel jerked awake and hissed in pain when he felt his back complain. "OK, I'm almost up. I'll be there, Boss."

"_See that you are. Out." _

Daniel locked his teeth and rolled out of his bunk, heading for the shower at a stiff legged shuffle. Five minutes of hot water helped remarkably, and he gave devout thanks once again for Andorian recycling technology. "Bless their little blue hearts," he muttered as he fumbled for a towel and headed toward the closet.

He made it, with 32 seconds to spare. Personal worst, but Sehlra just told him to grab a meter and start checking voltage levels in the carbon dioxide filters. Daniel gratefully got busy at one of the few jobs not requiring any bending or lifting. "How are you feeling this morning, boy?" she asked him after a few moments.

"A lot better," he told her, half-truthfully. He did feel better. Not a lot, but better. "T'Riss put some more of that gunk on my back and it really helped."

"Did she now?" Sehlra sounded amused. "Getting used to being pampered? Starting to like having a woman rub you down?"

"I've always liked having a woman rub me," Daniel grinned. "I just need to make sure the one rubbing me isn't going to fly off the handle and break my neck."

"A Vulcan?" Sehlra scoffed. "How much safer could you get?"

"Sehlra," Daniel said seriously. She turned to look at him. "T'Riss is a great girl. She's beautiful. She's smart. She has honor. She's built like every Human man's dream woman. But she's been hurt bad, and I'm not going to put myself into the line of fire until I'm sure that she won't blow up in my face. Even Human women can go completely nuts if they've been abused. A Vulcan woman might turn into something that I just flat out don't want to be anywhere near."

"Hmm," Sehlra turned back to the control board. "How much stronger is she than you, anyway?"

"Quite a bit, now," Daniel admitted. "Considering she's in top shape and she's been living under full gravity, while I've been getting soft as a pillow here with the low grav field we kept to save energy. Vulcans are stronger than Humans anyway, but that just makes it a lot worse."

She twisted her antennae in agreement. "It should gradually improve, now that we can afford to run the field at full strength. But you're right; it isn't good to stay at low grav long term. Causes muscle and bone loss, and other bad effects. We all need to put in some more time in the gym. I'm considering upgrading the weight machine and installing a new treadmill."

"A new treadmill would be good," Daniel grunted and pulled himself up the access ladder to the second level catwalk. "The CO levels up here are all right, but I'm getting some ozone leakage. Just a trace, but we shouldn't have any at all."

"There's a voltage leak somewhere. Has to be," Sehlra muttered. "Why in the name of the Mother they didn't just install catalyst processors and be done with it I'll never understand." She moved over to a board next to the access ladder that Daniel had just climbed and started checking readouts. "Here it is. Unit 3A, Section Blue."

"On it," Daniel told her. He moved along the catwalk until he reached the offending unit and killed the power. A quick series of twists and toggle flips later, and Daniel was sliding a long rectangular box out of its slot. "There it is, carbon buildup caused it to overheat and start arcing. I think I can salvage this unit without replacement. Give me a few minutes."

"Good enough," Sehlra told him, and went back to monitoring coolant flow. The two of them worked in silence for a while.

Eventually Daniel asked, "Sehlra?"

"What is it, boy?"

"You really like that Betazoid?"

She slapped the top of the control board. "Mind your own business, child! You have a job in front of you. Get it done and quit mucking around!"

He chuckled. "The job's done," he told her as he stood up and slid the unit back into place. "And you have no room to tell anyone about minding their own business. Not considering the way you and Jenrali have been double-teaming to push me and T'Riss together. I think I have a right to ask if he might be coming aboard permanently, don't I?" Daniel turned and leaned on the railing, looking down at her impishly.

Sehlra tightened her mouth and drew her antenna together. "Not likely, boy. He isn't much older than you are. I'm not a child molester."

"Oh bullshit!" Daniel exploded. "He's at least twice my age. And what's the big deal about age anyway? He's a different species. Andorians live to 150 or better. It's not like you're going to kick the bucket tomorrow. You don't seem to think anything about pushing T'Riss at me, and she's older than I am."

Sehlra had been about to interrupt, but suddenly she stopped. "She is?"

"Sure she is," Daniel told her. "Didn't you realize? Vulcans live twice as long as Humans, and they mature about half as fast. I'm just guessing, but I figure she's probably about ten years older than I am, plus or minus. She'll probably live a couple of centuries, where I'll be lucky to make it past 120. You can expect 150 years, but from what I've heard, Betazoids don't usually make it any longer than Humans."

Sehlra leaned back against the console, looking thoughtful.

#

Commander T'Pol entered Sickbay with a padd in hand, prepared to defend her concerns and to insist that Doctor Phlox act upon them. The hypocrisy inherent in challenging her commanding officer's fitness for duty after her own behavior at Azati Prime was not lost on her, however, and she approached the harassed-looking doctor with some trepidation. If he had been willing to allow her to retain command of the _Enterprise _while under the influence of trellium-D, would he even think that Jonathan Archer's recent behavior was unacceptable? Surely even the Denobulan would draw the line at command decisions which risked all-out war.

T'Pol stepped up behind the doctor, but stopped when she saw that he was facing a comm console and was in a serious discussion with a Vulcan in healer's robes. She recognized the Healer in question. He was Sorsen, the Chief Melder of the medical transport vessel _Kau T'Surak_, and one of only four Vulcans who had been present at her marriage ceremony. Had it only been two weeks since she'd exchanged vows with Trip? Logic told her so, but she could no longer remember what it was like not to be formally bonded to Trip Tucker—nor did she wish to. She turned to allow the doctor some privacy, but couldn't help but overhear the conversation.

"_I understand the need for confidentiality, Doctor, but you and I both know that the scans you sent me could only belong to one person aboard your vessel_," said Sorsen. "_What difficulty is Commander Tucker experiencing?"_

T'Pol turned at that and focused all of her attention on the caller.

"What makes you think the brain scan images were of Commander Tucker?" asked Phlox, looking genuinely puzzled. Sorsen raised a brow.

"_The images are of a Human brain, but the neurotransmitter pattern is distinctly Vulcan,"_ he returned with forced patience. _ "Since Commander Tucker is the only Human bon…"_

"This is not a secure channel," interrupted Phlox hastily, "and in any case, your assumption is incorrect. The images are of Captain Archer." Both of Sorsen's brows went up at that. Phlox looked grim. "So I take it there is cause for concern?" he asked the melder.

"_The Human brain is not designed to function in this fashion," _replied Sorsen in a concerned tone._ "The overproduction of neurotransmitters in ordinarily unused portions of the Human brain, as is demonstrated in these images, could certainly cause erratic behavior…and, given sufficient time, result in what some might call insanity. Ordinarily, if the situation cannot be permanently remedied, regular melds with someone possessing a brain structure more suited to the hyperfunction demonstrated here would be what I would recommend to control the condition. It is not uncommonly seen in bonded Vulcan couples where one member of the bonded pair possesses a tremendously greater telepathic or intellectual capacity than the other." _Sorsen paused, seeming to ponder the situation. "_I have never seen such a thing without a bond, though…and of course, never in a Human. That in itself is not surprising, considering the fact that I have met very few Humans, but…" _He shook his head. "_This cannot possibly be a safe condition for your captain to be in."_

"You mentioned a 'remedy'?" prompted Phlox. T'Pol listened intently.

"_During the time when melding was forbidden, the conventional treatment was to sever the bond," _Sorsen said._ "I began my career as a healer clandestinely teaching melding techniques to couples whose only other choices would have been either to end their bond or to have one of the pair watch as the other slowly went irrevocably mad. Fortunately, the discovery of the Kir'shara has made such subterfuge unnecessary. In this case…" _Sorsen shrugged helplessly. "_I have no idea. I suppose I'd have to meld with the patient and discover the root cause of the condition first."_

"That may be a problem, considering the current state of Human/Vulcan relations… at least locally. Your Commander T'Lar must be ready to…as the Humans say…'shoot first and ask questions later'," Phlox told him wryly.

"_Not at all, Doctor. I take orders directly from the High Council, the members of which take a larger view of the current situation than 'our Commander T'Lar'. If you can convince your captain that my services are needed, I will come aboard as soon as we rendezvous to transfer the injured," _replied Sorsen. Phlox smiled in obvious gratitude.

"You have my thanks, Healer," he replied. "And I'm certain Captain Archer's as well…as soon as I explain the situation to him. We'll rendezvous as planned in eight hours." Sorsen tipped his head once in acknowledgement, and then the screen went dark. Phlox turned away from it to face T'Pol. He didn't seem surprised by her presence.

"May I help you, Commander?" he asked with every appearance of innocence.

"I was told that I could find the captain here. Can you tell me where he is?" asked T'Pol.

Phlox gave her an affable smile. "He's just gone off duty. I sent him to his cabin for some well deserved rest. I'd advise you to let him sleep, barring a major emergency. He's got an important appointment in the morning. I was just going to call you to inform you that you are in command." T'Pol hesitated for a moment, and then decided that her errand had become superfluous. She tipped her head, exhaling a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Doctor."

#

Llahir was a patient man, but being ignored in the Human's briefing room since the incident with the _Sehlat _was taxing even his forbearance. It was unlikely that they'd forgotten about him. More probably the Chief Security Officer and his staff were just overwhelmed by the sheer volume of newly acquired sources of classified information. But they certainly had forgotten about the thoroughness of Vulcan training if they thought that by leaving him in this room alone they were preventing him from discovering how relations had deteriorated between the _Enterprise _and the _Sehlat._ The computer console in the ready room differed very little from the ones he'dused thirty years ago_. _After so many years, it was expected, he supposed, that the Humans would gain access to enough Vulcan technology to make their hardware virtually indistinguishable from obsolete Vulcan models. It was child's play, literally, for him to access the ship's communication system and monitor the progress of the battle and its rather disturbing sequel.

Llahir shook his head at the impulsive behavior of the young commander. Granted, she was under orders to conceal as much as possible about Romulan origins, but still, sending an armed boarding party to an allied ship? What was the child thinking? In the Romulan fleet a mistake like that would rate summary execution without trial—not for sending the boarding party, but for sending it when there was no possible chance of success. But then, any Romulan ally that dared to lock weapons on a battle cruiser would be blown out of space instantly, so he supposed the situation balanced, in a perverse sort of way.

The battle scarred agent carefully placed the padd on the briefing table. Regretfully, he decided that he would be forced to give up his hope of a personal conversation with the man who had actually carried the katra of Surak. Given the circumstances, it would be more prudent for him to return to the _Sehlat_ for debriefing as soon as possible. There were aspects to the situation that neither Commander T'Lar nor the Vulcan High Command were aware of. Romulan plans for expansion were proceeding with distressing speed. So much speed, that he had felt impelled to take extraordinary risks in order to make contact for retrieval. The information he carried was critically important for his people. One piece of information that he believed to be particularly important was that the Vulcan alliance with Earth was a significant factor in forcing the Romulans to proceed with caution.

For at least two generations, Romulan agents had been infiltrating Vulcan society with the goal of establishing themselves in controlling positions at high government and military levels. They had succeeded remarkably well, and despite the recent purges following the fall of V'Las, there were still substantial numbers of Romulans in place on the home world. The primary short term goal of the Romulan empire was to isolate Vulcan from her allies. Once she was alone, Vulcan would be easy prey, or so the Praetor planned.

The single most significant obstacle to this objective was the fledgling Coalition of Planets, and Earth was the driving force behind the Coalition. If the alliance between Vulcan and Earth could be sabotaged, or failing that, if Earth could be crippled, then the ultimate goal of reunification under the raptor's wings could at last be achieved.

Llahir had spent decades alone, surviving in a hostile environment by his wits and his reaction time. Only his dedication to the survival of his people had given him the will to stay alive. He was not going to stand by and permit political foolishness or mistaken adherence to outmoded policies to destroy that which he had sold his life to preserve. He glanced down at the table. The innocuous looking padd contained a concise description of the Romulan empire, its origin, size, extent, number of settled planets, approximate population distribution, form of government, military organization, general fleet size and distribution according to his best information, as much information as he had time to record concerning Romulan technical and weapons expertise, and a lengthy explanation of Romulan strategy for the alpha quadrant including their desire to re-conquer their ancestral planet.

He sighed and let his shoulders slump. He had done what he could. Surak had taught his people to cast out fear and follow the path of truth in all things. All Llahir could do now was to wait and hope.

First, he removed the impressively reverse-engineered sensor baffle that the Human security officer had given him from around his waist and deactivated it. Then he activated the comm system, opened a channel, sent the _Sehlat _a five digit code, and waited. Llahir was de-materializing by the time the security officer on the bridge of the _Enterprise_ had the time to detect the transmission, determine its source, rise from his chair and take three steps toward the turbo-lift.

#

"I don't care if you like it or not," Damin told her bluntly. "It's this way or nothing. You're welcome to sit on the station and wait for the medical ships to head back as far as I care. Your mission is nothing to me."

Raijiin wanted to slap him. "A few minutes ago you were going on about how dangerous it would be for me to set foot on _Lerteiran_. Now you want me to openly announce it? You're the one that has lost his mind."

"Perhaps Mr. Damin is following a chain of logic that we are not fully aware of," Senek suggested. "I recommend that we permit him to finish explaining his suggestion before offering objections."

Damin refilled his cup. "It's not a matter of logic. Or not entirely. I just refuse to lie to them. My father's House may sometimes engage in operations that are technically illegal, but we maintain a very strict code of honor. The crew of_ Lerteiran_ has helped me more than once, even to the point of risking their own lives. And they did it without ever asking anything in return. I refuse to betray their trust." He raised the cup and looked at them over the rim, his dark eyes glittering. "I may carry Romulan treachery in my blood, but I am not Romulan."

"How then do you propose that we convince Captain Jenrali to knowingly allow us aboard, given his previous history with Raijiin?" countered Senek.

"By offering him something so valuable he'd be crazy to refuse it," said Damin, "Preferred trading status at every Vulcan port in known space."

Senek raised a brow. Raijiin's heart skipped a beat. He was actually considering the insane Betazoid's plan. The prospect was alarming.

"Even assuming we have the authority to make that offer," said Senek, "I seriously doubt that it would be enough to get them to agree unless they could be convinced that Raijiin had been rendered harmless." Damin shrugged, then emptied his teacup in one gulp.

"So convince them," he said.

Senek's eyes cut to Raijiin. The expression in them was one she had seen before, and she gave an inward sigh of resignation. Giving over control was humiliating, especially in front of a witness capable of sensing her predicament, but she'd learned that resistance was pointless. In this one skill at least, Senek was her master.

Raijiin closed her eyes and waited. Senek's mental presence flooded her consciousness, and she felt her self-will retreating behind a shell that she and Senek had constructed for this purpose. Her eyes opened, but he saw through them. She felt and thought, but had no voluntary control of her body. She felt herself rise from the table, collect the teacups, and place them in the recycler. Then her body returned to the table and stood silently behind Senek's chair in perfect imitation of a Vulcan domestic servant. Raijiin saw Damin's eyes widen in surprise as he sensed the change in her.

"Can she break your control?" he asked Senek.

"When we first began her training, she tried…sometimes a hundred or more times a day," Senek replied calmly. "She now submits willingly, for she has learned that the alternative is not to her liking." Damin swallowed, grimacing slightly as he inspected Senek's handiwork. Raijiin could feel him probing the shield that encased her conscious mind. "You can now truthfully say that no one on _Lertieran _is in any danger from Raijiin," said Senek. "I will discuss the matter of payment with my superiors. If the Andorian captain agrees to transport us, will you agree to vouch for us and confirm that Raijiin is under my complete control?"

Damin's mouth twisted as if he were tasting something spoiled. He hesitated.

"If I am able to acquire favored trading status for _Lertieran, _I see no reason why I wouldn't be able to convince my superiors to grant the same privilege to your father's House," offered Senek. "It's my understanding that you plan to rejoin representatives of your father's House on Risa. Bringing such a concession with you would be convincing proof of your loyalty."

Behind her shell, Raijiin marveled at Senek's deviousness. There were times when her keeper seemed more Romulan than Vulcan.

Damin pursed his lips. "Agreed," he conceded with a nod.

#

"_Lerteiran, you are cleared to dock at station eleven," _the disembodied voice announced.

"Acknowledged," Jenrali replied. "Approach vector 12.3X by 45.98Y by 66.2Z, delta -.001 standard."

"_Adjust thrusters to station keeping," _the voice instructed. _"Stand by for tractor beam."_

"Thrusters at station keeping, aye."

The ship lurched faintly as the beam took hold. An almost imperceptible humming vibrated through the hull and into the soles of everyone's feet as the tractor beam started pulling _Lerteiran _toward the docking berth. There was a slight bump and a series of lights appeared on the control console.

"Docking clamps engaged," Daniel announced. "Clamp one, secure. Clamp two, secure. Clamp three, secure. Clamp four, secure. Clamp five, secure. Clamp six, secure."

"Clamp one, check," Jenrali acknowledged. "Clamp two, check. Clamp three, check. Clamp four, check. Clamp five, check. Clamp six, check. Extend airlock hatch seal."

"Extending airlock hatch seal," Daniel reported. "Contact. Secure. Feedback affirmative. Diagnostic underway. Standby." They waited quietly for a moment. "Diagnostic affirmative. Seal is secure. Everything is airtight, Captain."

"Airlock secure, check," Jenrali acknowledged. He turned in his seat. "Good work, lad," he told Daniel, as he had always done after docking procedure since the first time he had come aboard. "Anything you'd like to pick up from that Human ship since we're here again?"

"Well," Daniel said thoughtfully. "Since you mentioned it, there are a couple of things that I wouldn't mind checking with their quartermaster about. Nothing drastic, but like you said, since we're here..."

"Go ahead then," Jenrali told him. "Nothing's going to be happening here until we get the passenger manifest finalized." He made a face. "Some of them are leaving, and we need to find out how Damin is doing."

"Do you suppose T'Riss might be able to wheedle some information out of the Vulcans?" Daniel suggested.

"A good thought," Jenrali brightened. "Take her with you onto the station. She can check with the Vulcans while you raid the Human quartermaster. Both of you be back here by change of watch, hear?"

"Understood, Captain." Daniel rose up slowly and maneuvered himself toward the ladder.

"How are you doing now?" Jenrali carefully kept his voice neutral.

"I'll be fine," Daniel told him cheerfully. "Just a little sore now. Few days, it'll be forgotten."

"Maybe you might duck in and have that Phlox take a glance at it," Jenrali told him casually. "Since you'll be there anyway."

Daniel paused on the second step. "Well... since I'll be there anyway, if I get the time I might." Jenrali nodded and turned back to the console. Daniel resumed working his way down the ladder. As soon as he was out of Jenrali's field of vision, he let his face contort in pain. Locking his teeth in a snarl, Daniel managed to make it to the foot of the ladder without actually whimpering, but it was a very near thing. Once his feet were back on the deck, he leaned against the ladder and hung on, gasping for breath with his mouth wide open for several minutes.

"Daniel." He turned his head in shock to find T'Riss observing him and looking worried. "Are you functional?" He immediately straightened and forced a smile.

"Certainly," he told her, with only a slight catch in his voice. "I was just going to come looking for you. I'm going over to _Enterprise_, and Jenrali suggested that maybe you could visit _Sehlat _and find out what the status is with Damin?"

"I can certainly make the attempt," T'Riss told him. "But I believe your visit to _Enterprise _should take first priority. It is evident that your injury requires immediate medical attention." She slipped an arm around his waist and took part of his weight. Pride fought pragmatism, and pragmatism won. Daniel let her help him.

"All right, if you insist," he said. "I'll visit the doc over there. Maybe he can patch me up. This is getting inconvenient anyway."

"Back injuries are not merely inconvenient, Daniel," T'Riss told him seriously. "They're often handicapping, and are definitely a matter of concern." They reached the airlock and she input her access code. "I also agree with Engineer Selra that this ship needs improved inertial dampeners."

"Not really," Daniel huffed as he stepped over the raised lip of the airlock. "What it needs is a crew in better physical condition. We ran at low grav for too long trying to save money, but every one of us lost muscle tone and bone mass doing it. In retrospect, it wasn't a good idea, but we were broke."

T'Riss keyed the pad and the inner door closed. "Could you not have obtained a loan for operating expenses?" She turned to place her hand on the identification plate for the station's inner door.

"No way," Daniel shook his head emphatically. "The only people that would loan money to a small outfit like us would have been the Orions. Believe me. You do not want to be in debt to the Orions. Not for any reason."

"Say no more," T'Riss told him. "I understand completely." The door opened and they stepped through onto the long access corridor leading around the perimeter of the station.

"I believe _Enterprise _is at docking bay three," T'Riss said. "Shall we?" Daniel smiled weakly and they started walking, slowly. By the time docking bay three came into view, she was more than half carrying him and Daniel's breath was coming loudly enough that even he had to admit it sounded harsh.

There was one nice thing, Daniel reflected, about being a member of a species that was scarce in a particular part of space. Everyone tended to be aware of and recognize everyone else. The security guards at the _Enterprise _airlock knew who he was instantly and didn't ask questions. One of them signaled sickbay while the other one took Daniel's free arm and started assisting T'Riss.

Phlox had a biobed ready when they got there. "Ah, Mr. Johansen. How nice to see you again, although I must admit I had hoped our next meeting would be under different circumstances. What seems to be the trouble?"

Daniel started to explain while climbing onto the bed, but kept interrupting himself to groan. So T'Riss stepped up and gave a concise summary of Daniel's condition, the circumstances that led to it, and the treatment that Sehlra had recommended thus far. Phlox nodded and listened while he examined Daniel's back and ran a scanner over the area.

"Well, Mr. Johansen. I see that we have some ligament damage, a torn muscle, and most distressingly, a minor compression fracture of the body of the fourth lumbar vertebra." He shook his head and clucked his tongue. "Someone's spent too long in micro-gravity." Phlox turned away and headed for his medicine cabinet while T'Riss walked over to the bed and looked down at Daniel in deep concern.

"Don't look so worried, T'Riss," Daniel told her with a smile. "The doc will fix me right up."

"Of course, of course," Phlox called out enthusiastically, head buried inside his cabinet. "A minor bit of routine surgery, a couple of days of bed rest and an infusion of zoledronic acid to build bone mass, and he will be good as new."

"Surgery?" Daniel felt his face go blank. T'Riss looked thoughtful, and nodded to herself. "I can't afford to take time for surgery, Doc. I have work to do!"

"You won't be doing much work if you can't move, will you now?" Phlox came ambling back over with a hypo and a broad smile. He applied the hypo briskly to Daniel's neck. "There now, that should help the pain quite a bit. When you wake up we can discuss your options in more depth."

"Wake up? Wait a minute, Doc. I ca-"

#

"The drug acted with remarkable speed, Doctor," T'Riss said after a moment.

"Yes, it's quite effective on Humans," Phlox told her smugly. "An extract from a fungus that we discovered during our second year of exploration. I've gotten quite a bit of use out of that little growth."

"You are quite certain that surgery is required?" T'Riss asked.

"He's got an osteoporotic fracture," Phlox told her. "If this stubborn young man continues to move about without stabilizing his spine he will only continue to make matters worse. He could quite possibly inflict permanent neurologic damage on himself should any of his nerves become compressed."

"In that case, there is, of course, no choice in the matter. I am certain that his shipmates will agree," T'Riss told him.

"I will need formal authorization from one of them," Phlox informed her. "When Mr. Johansen was in my care last time he filed permission listing his business partners as next of kin. Either of them have authority to approve surgery such as this, since he is himself incapacitated." T'Riss raised an eyebrow and walked over to the comm. Five minutes later Phlox had carte blanche to do whatever he felt necessary to repair Daniel, up to and including using a club to subdue him.

"Remarkable people, Andorians," Phlox said, switching off the comm unit and rubbing his hands. "Forthright and stubborn. Some consider them ruthless, but they are absolutely loyal to their own."

"I am beginning to understand some things about Andorians, and about Humans, that I never suspected," T'Riss replied. "May I ask you something, Doctor?"

"Certainly, er, Crewman," he told her. "Ask away."

"Are you familiar with the Vulcan practice of neuropressure?" Phlox paused for several seconds with an unusual expression on his face.

"Yes. I have heard of it. Why do you ask?" he responded, not looking directly at her.

"Daniel mentioned to me that Humans use a similar method to provide relaxation and relief from tension. He called it accu-pressure," T'Riss said. "According to Daniel, there are diagrams available which specify the correct points for administration of this procedure. I was wondering if you could provide me with this information."

Phlox turned to look carefully at her. T'Riss stood and met his eyes, firmly resisting the impulse to twitch. _There is no reason for discomfort. It is only logical that he would be curious. You must expect this. If you intend to choose a Human mate, you will face this reaction routinely. If you cannot deal with this, you have no right to consider Daniel as a potential partner. This Denobulan's reaction is nothing compared to what you will face from your own people. When Mother finds out..._

"Am I correct in concluding from your request that you have some interest in considering Mr. Johansen as a potential mate?" Phlox asked her carefully.

T'Riss straightened even further. "Yes, Doctor. You are correct."

"Is Mr. Johansen aware of this?" Phlox shot back. T'Riss flinched.

"Of course," she answered in surprise. "We have discussed the matter at some length. Currently, we are engaged in... preliminary assessments of our compatibility."

Phlox whispered quietly to himself in a voice that T'Riss was confident he did not intend her to hear, "Discussing the matter openly beforehand. Like two adults. What a remarkable concept."

Aloud he told her, "There is indeed a Human touch therapy called accu-pressure. In terms of effectiveness, though, I consider it inferior to Vulcan neuropressure. If you wish to induce relaxation, Human massage therapy is significantly easier to master and just as effective. I will be happy to provide you with information on massage therapy if you wish."

"Thank you, Doctor. I accept your offer," T'Riss told him. "However, I was hoping to obtain information on accu-pressure in order to supplement my training in neuropressure."

Phlox looked up from the data console sharply. "Your training in neuropressure is incomplete?"

"Unfortunately, yes," T'Riss admitted uncomfortably. "If you are familiar with neuropressure, you also know that we do not generally complete our training until just before marriage."

"No," Phlox said regretfully, "I was not aware of this."

T'Riss told him, "It is usually the case. We are traditionally taught by our mothers or another elder female relative. If none are available, by a priestess. In my case, I was scheduled to complete my training during my first year... of residency on..."

She stopped and locked down all of her controls. It all came crashing back at once. The memory of her betrothed. He had been so young. They had been friends since childhood. He had died defending her, just as honor demanded. All for nothing. Bitterness and rage rose up and would not be denied.

"Crewman T'Riss?" Doctor Phlox was looking at her oddly. "Would medication assist you in maintaining control?"

T'Riss realized to her horror that her emotional state must be blatantly obvious for the doctor to make such an offer. She instantly began working her way through the Disciplines, focusing on breathing and relaxation. "No doctor, thank you. I am already under treatment with medication provided by Healer Tyvek," she told him. She hoped desperately that he would let it drop, and he did. Instead, he picked up their previous thread of conversation.

"Neuropressure, or accu-pressure for that matter, when improperly performed, has the potential to cause damage to the spinal nerves. It should never be applied by someone who is not fully trained. I recommend in the strongest possible terms that you obtain further instruction before you attempt it." Phlox turned back to his terminal and completed downloading something onto a Human padd.

"Here." He handed the padd to her. "This is a series of instructional texts on the art of massage therapy. It is geared primarily toward relaxation by manipulating muscle groups. Humans often find it quite helpful for conditions such as Mr. Johansen's, as well as being pleasurable in its own right." T'Riss took it from him and immediately began studying it while he turned to his unconscious patient. Daniel would have need of her services after his surgery, and she intended to be ready for the task.

#

Trip Tucker entered Sickbay with mixed emotions. On the one hand, the last thing he needed right now was to deal directly with Jonathan Archer. Since their confrontation he'd made a point to associate with his captain on a strictly professional level only. On the other hand, while T'Pol was in command Trip was her First Officer, and she had asked—insisted, rather—that he, as the highest ranking Human aboard, witness and approve the results of the captain's treatment before she yielded command to him. Trip honestly doubted his ability to make an unbiased judgment in this instance, but he felt confident in Dr. Phlox's ability to tell whether the captain was fit for duty, so he hadn't argued the point. At the very least, T'Pol needed a firsthand report on the medical condition of the Romulan prisoner. Since the Vulcan agent's expert hacking of their systems yesterday evening, Malcolm had decided that the internal ship's comm wasn't sufficiently secure, and as acting captain, T'Pol couldn't leave the bridge for hours yet.

Jonathan Archer was not in sight. Phlox was gloved, gowned, and masked within the shimmer of a sterile surgical force field, injecting something into someone's lower back with a huge antiquated looking needle and syringe. The patient's back was covered in drapes and he was lying on a biobed face down, but Trip could see enough of him to tell he was Human. Just outside the field stood the young Vulcan woman who'd been assigned as crew on _Lerteiran_ as an act of administrative discipline by the Vulcans a few weeks ago, an impressive demonstration of interspecies cooperation in Trip's opinion. She seemed none the worse for wear after duty on an Andorian vessel, but had an expression of concern on her face that reminded him strongly of T'Pol. The draped patient had to be Daniel Johansen.

"Why are you using that device instead of a hypospray, Doctor?" she asked in a tone that would have sounded to an uninitiated ear as if she were merely curious. Trip, however, knew worry in a Vulcan voice when he heard it.

"I'm performing the procedure, not giving an injection, Crewman," replied Phlox as he worked. "This is an hydroxyapatite cement which will restore the vertebra to its proper dimensions and stabilize it. Once it hardens in a few minutes, his fourth lumbar vertebra will be even stronger than the others. Then he'll need to stay in full gravity and engage in regular weight bearing exercise for at least six months after his zoledronic acid infusion to reverse the osteopenia."

"I will make certain that he does so, Doctor," said T'Riss in a firmly confident voice. Trip suppressed a smile at that.

_Sounds like she's planning to hang around a while. Makes me wonder what Daniel's been up to, _he thought, amused. Phlox put the syringe on the treatment table beside him and deactivated the surgical field generator at the head of the biobed. It flickered once before going out. Trip made a mental note to add medical equipment maintenance to his department's list of things to do_. _Sickbay was virtually empty now that the refugees had been transferred to the hospital ship, but for a while there they'd been putting a real strain on Sickbay resources and equipment. Phlox pulled his mask down and, finally appearing to notice Trip's presence, smiled broadly in welcome.

"May I help you, Commander?" he asked.

"T'Pol sent me," Trip replied. "She wants me to check on the prisoner and to see about the captain." Phlox's smile shrank a fraction and his eyes cut to T'Riss. Then he stepped forward to meet Trip and lowered his voice. The Vulcan girl took Daniel's limp hand in hers. She seemed oblivious to their conversation.

"The prisoner is still unconscious. The multiple simultaneous stun blasts she suffered while being apprehended appear to have caused some cerebral edema," said Phlox softly. Trip just raised a sardonic brow at him and waited. "Her brain is swollen," clarified Phlox. "The condition is treatable but I'm not certain when she'll wake up. I'll inform the bridge when she does." Trip blew out heavily and nodded.

"Okayyy. So what about the captain?"

"His appointment was postponed until 0730. Healer Sorsen was unavoidably delayed by a complicated patient." Trip glanced at the clock on the wall. It read 0729. As the minute turned, the doors to Sickbay opened and Jonathan Archer walked into the room, precisely on time to the second. He was dressed in a spotless duty uniform. If he was surprised by Trip's presence there was no evidence of it. Phlox gave the Vulcan girl a reassuring smile.

"I'll be back. Just stay with him until he wakes up." At her nod, Phlox moved to intercept the captain and escorted him to a curtained off cubicle near the pharmacy. Trip made no move to follow. The captain looked back before he entered the designated area. Their eyes met. For a moment Trip thought he saw a vestige of his old friend in Jonathan Archer's expression, and then it was as if a shutter fell over the man's face, and he was a stranger again before he shut the curtain.

_Maybe T'Pol's right, _thought Trip, concerned despite the anger that remained. _Maybe all this isn't just Jon being an asshole. Maybe there really is something wrong with him. _

As the thought occurred to him, an emerald-robed Vulcan healer entered Sickbay flanked by two security officers, phase pistols drawn. Phlox exited the cubicle where he'd left the captain and greeted the security guards with an angry, "Out! This man is my guest! No weapons in my Sickbay!" The young men rolled their eyes at him, holstered their weapons, and left to take positions flanking the door in the hallway while Phlox apologized profusely to the healer. Trip recognized him. He was Sorsen, one of the Vulcans who'd officiated at his wedding ceremony less than a month before.

"Apologies are not needed, Doctor. I understand the need for security in our current situation," said Sorsen. His manner was calm and reassuring. The air of gravitas he exuded was in conflict with his appearance. If he'd been Human Trip would have pegged him for no older than twenty-five. Being Vulcan, he was probably closer to sixty, but young for a Chief Melder and Master Healer nonetheless, according to T'Pol. He turned to Trip and offered the ta'al.

"It is agreeable to see you, Commander. I trust things are going well?" Trip's expression was more of a grimace than a smile as he returned the ta'al.

"Everything's fine, Healer. Thanks for askin'. Ah… I sure hope you can help the cap'n," he returned desperately, trying to change the subject.

Phlox smiled uncertainly as his gaze shifted from one to the other.

"I wasn't aware that the two of you had met…." he began.

"Commander Tucker boarded the _Kau T'Surak _with Commander T'Pol a few weeks ago at my request. There were some…interspecies diplomacy issues involved that I felt required their presence," offered Sorsen, a little too honestly for Trip's comfort. Phlox looked even more puzzled.

"Ah….so I take it the issues were resolved, then?" he asked.

"Quite satisfactorily," answered Sorsen without elaborating. Phlox smiled, waiting for more, but Sorsen just gave him an expectant look. "Our patient?" he prompted. Trip breathed a sigh of relief. He followed the two medical men to the curtained off cubicle. They entered without him, which was fine by him. His job was to witness the results. He had no need to actually watch the man mess with Jon's mind. Phlox came out seconds later.

"You might as well leave and make your report, Commander. Healer Sorsen informs me that diagnosing the captain's problem may take several hours," said the doctor. Trip ran one hand through his hair, nodding.

"Okay. I'll let T'Pol know," he said, but he didn't turn to leave yet. A question was burning in his chest, but so was his anger. Jon had forfeited the right to be worried over when he'd treated Trip like crap, but Trip couldn't help it. "Will the cap'n be all right?" he forced out reluctantly. Phlox smiled a crooked smile.

"I certainly hope so, Commander… I really do," he said.

#

Jonathan Archer could hear muffled conversation just beyond the curtain, but he didn't allow it to disturb him. The expression on Trip's face right before he'd shut the curtain had initially unsettled him. Trip had always worn his hurt feelings on his sleeve. Jonathan Archer had no siblings, but Trip was his brother in spirit—or rather, had been. He'd never wanted to hurt him, but quite obviously he had. The guilt was like an acid, eroding away Jon's hard-won equilibrium. There was nothing he could do but meditate.

_Emotions are illusion. Allow them to pass through you, leaving your essence untouched. Your mind contains only stillness._

"Captain?"

_Nothingness_

"Captain Archer?"

Jon took a deep breath and opened his eyes.The face before him was Vulcan. The man looked young. Appearances were deceiving, of course._ He's older than I am, that's certain. I hope he knows what he's doing._

"I am Sorsen. I am a healer," said the man. "With your permission, I will perform a diagnostic meld." He held up his right hand, fingers splayed. "You must place your right hand on my temple, so." His fingertips felt warm on the side of Jon's head.

Taken aback, Jon took a couple of seconds to echo the gesture. He'd expected a few questions at least, but on further reflection realized that questions were a waste of time when you were about to read someone's mind. As that thought occurred to him, Sorsen began to speak in Vulcan. Jon understood it perfectly, a skill he'd come to take for granted but for which he still had no adequate explanation.

"My mind to your mind. My thoughts to your thoughts."

Jon felt a presence nudge his mind. It felt similar to the presence of Surak's katra, but somehow _less. _ He sometimes still dreamed about the feeling. He hadn't yet decided whether the dreams were nightmares or not.

"Our minds are merging."

The healer's living mind invaded Jon's in a way that he'd never experienced before. If carrying Surak's katra had been like being a horse carrying a rider, this was more like a horse _becoming _his rider, as if the two of them were a single individual. He panicked for a second until Sorsen took complete control.

"Our minds are one".

Through a shell of enforced serenity, Jon watched as the Vulcan healer systematically searched his memories, both remote and recent. A child's longing for something he'd never had blended into bittersweet jealousy…quickly hidden…watching his best pal Trip at dinner with his mother. A memory of his father, angry after being thwarted yet again, ranting against the "damned Vulcans and their damned rules" blended into flying a prototype engine model with his father…finally triumphant, still defiant.

Years in college, stuffing his anger while his warp field technology professors waxed poetic about Vulcans and their altruism. Receiving his officer's commission, swearing an oath to serve Earth and to obey his superiors…and then dealing with the reality that his superiors were regularly kissing Vulcan asses in order to push their own agendas.

Taking command of _Enterprise, _finally able to be free of Vulcan influence, only to be saddled with a Vulcan babysitter. Stifling anger and frustration, using it to fuel his determination.

Becoming aware of the despised Vulcan as a woman, only to have his attempts to break out of long-held prejudices thrown in his face.

Pulled out of time, not once but dozens of times, told that he was vital to the future of the Earth…to all humankind. How could he live up to such a destiny?

Boarding the Xindi weapon…no one else must die… expecting death, yet somehow escaping it undeserved.

And then, despite everything, despite his buried hatred of Vulcans and his crippling self-doubt, he'd been chosen to carry Surak Himself.

The experience had destroyed him….remade him…forced him to see the truth. He'd become harder, more ruthless as he realized his true superiority over others. His thoughts had become clearer, his intellect incisive. Surak's memories had not only made him more intelligent, they had made him a superman! How could anyone dare to question his decisions? He was infallible! A god-like being!

At that realization, Sorsen pulled back the barrier shielding Jonathan from his emotions, and the true horror of his delusions overwhelmed him. He was a monster. There was no doubt in his mind that he didn't deserve to live. Every bit of the progress he'd thought he'd made through meditation, all of his newly won pseudo-Vulcan calm, was stripped from him in seconds.

Sorsen ended the meld. Jon was crying, curled up in a ball on the biobed when the Vulcan left him.

#

The first thing Daniel noticed when he woke was that the pain in his back was gone. The second thing he noticed was a small warm hand gripping his fingers. He opened his eyes and T'Riss, startled, pulled her hand immediately from his and turned her head to call the doctor. The initial concern on her face might just have been his imagination.

"He is awake, Doctor," she said. Phlox approached the bed with a broad grin on his face.

"So… how are you feeling?" he asked.

Daniel twisted experimentally. His muscles were sore, but the worst of the pain had vanished. He smiled. "I feel great, Doc. What did you do?"

"Don't get overexcited, now, Mr. Johansen. All I did was cement your fracture and give you some medicine to strengthen your bones," warned Phlox. "Some of the improvement you're feeling is the residual local anesthetic. You're not cleared for full duty yet. And I'll want you to begin treadmill walking under full Earth standard gravity as soon as possible, a minimum of five miles daily, so you don't want to overdo now and reinjure yourself or you'll delay your recovery."

"Understood , Doctor," replied T'Riss. Daniel eyed her dubiously, and then swallowed and smiled half-heartedly at the doctor.

"Ummm, sure, Doc. Thanks," he said. Then he noticed a Vulcan in healer's robes standing behind the doctor. For a minute he thought it was his foster brother Stern, and then realized the impossibility of that assumption, since Stern was on Vulcan. The man was also somewhat older than Stern. They'd met before, briefly, at Daniel's last encounter with Phlox and his syringes. Daniel nodded a greeting at the Vulcan and offered a ta'al. The healer returned his gesture, making eye contact with both Daniel and T'Riss to include both of them, in the way commonly done when greeting mated couples on Vulcan. Daniel grinned wryly and eyed T'Riss, who flushed olive, and then returned the gesture without any attempt to correct the healer's initial impression. Phlox noted the exchange, although Daniel doubted that he understood its significance, and took it upon himself to make an introduction.

"Crewman T'Riss, Mr. Johansen… May I introduce Healer Sorsen?" The Vulcan tipped his head.

"Healer Tyvek has recommended that I seek you out, Crewman. Now that you have returned, I would be pleased to see both of you at your convenience," he said. Then he turned to Phlox, abruptly dismissing Daniel and T'Riss in a way only possible for a busy Vulcan. "I have discovered the problem. Now our patient must rest," he said softly. "I recommend a sedative and at least six hours of sleep before I attempt a healing meld. Take precautions. In his current state he will end his life if given the means to do so."

"Of course," said Phlox in a subdued tone. Daniel thought he could hear faint, hoarse sobbing from behind a closed curtain across the room. Phlox turned to T'Riss. "I'll be keeping Mr. Johansen for another hour or two, Crewman. As it is noon, I suggest you have a meal and return at 1300 hours. You're welcome to make use of our mess hall." Then he turned back to Sorsen. The two of them were deep in conversation as they walked back toward the curtained cubicle.

"Would you like for me to bring you something to eat?" asked T'Riss. Daniel grimaced.

"I'm still sort of woozy from that knock-out stuff the doctor gave me. Maybe some plomeek broth?" he asked. T'Riss raised a brow.

"You want plomeek broth," she said flatly. Daniel shrugged.

"It's what V'Lan… Stern's mother… used to give me when I was sick. I got used to it. It makes me feel better," he replied.

"Ah." Her brow was still up. "Very well. I will bring you plomeek broth."

#

T'Riss entered the mess hall intending to collect a portion of plomeek broth for Daniel before returning directly to sickbay. Daniel was not a trustworthy patient. In her absence it was entirely possible that he would decide to do something foolish, thereby reversing all of the Denobulan's good work. As his prospective mate, she reasoned, it was her job to protect him from himself.

She watched other crew members as they retrieved their desired food, and then did as they did. With two portions of hot plomeek broth on her tray—it did smell quite appealing—she turned to leave, only to see Commander Tucker and Commander T'Pol sitting together at a table across the room. She'd heard the rumors of their supposed relationship, all adamantly denied by official Vulcan channels. She'd dismissed them as nothing but rumor after meeting the rigidly professional Vulcan officer and the confusingly casual Human engineer separately. They could never possibly be a couple, she'd decided. They were too different in their behavior patterns, in their approach to living. No two such diametrically opposite individuals could ever coexist as a mated couple. But then she saw them together off duty, and her assumptions were proven false by one touch of their fingers across the padd on the table before them, a casual touch to a Human, perhaps, but never to a Vulcan. The idea occurred to her then that perhaps Commander T'Pol might have the knowledge she sought.

Tucker rose from the table and began walking directly toward her. With a smile on his face he replied to her sober nod of greeting-not with a greeting of his own but with an obscure statement.

"Go on, now. Don't chicken out. You know you need to talk to her." T'Riss felt her face grow warm as she stared at the Human. Did the man read minds?

"You'd better hop to it. She's only got fifteen minutes left of her lunch break. I've got her all ready for ya," he said cheerily, and shouldered past her where she stood obstructing traffic at the end of the lunch line. She heard him chuckling as he walked out of the mess hall. Her eyes cut to Commander T'Pol, and realized to her dismay that the acting captain of the _Enterprise_ was looking directly at her across the crowded room as if she expected T'Riss to join her. What had the Human said? Something about getting Commander T'Pol "ready"? T'Riss's feet began moving before she'd made the conscious decision that to leave the mess hall now with someone awaiting her would be impolite./p

Upon arriving at the table, T'Riss, accustomed to remaining standing in the presence of superior officers until asked to be seated but unsure of protocol on a Human ship, remained standing in silence, holding her tray while the commander eyed her.

"Commander Tucker informs me that you wish to speak with me, Crewman." T'Riss nodded formally. T'Pol raised a brow. "Please be seated," she said.

T'Riss did so, and noting that Commander T'Pol had no food before her, said, "Would you care for some plomeek broth, Commander?" Just as Vulcan custom dictated the offer be made, so custom required that it be accepted. T'Pol's other brow went up as she took a bowl from the tray.

"You _have_ been talking with Commander Tucker, haven't you?" commented T'Pol.

As T'Pol had just seen the Human engineer stop and speak to her before exiting the mess hall, T'Riss didn't consider a response necessary, so for want of a better thing to do, she took up a spoon and tasted the plomeek broth. It was surprisingly good.

"This broth has an unusual flavor…"

"Cayenne pepper," replied T'Pol, lifting her own spoon. "It complements the traditional spices very well…a suggestion I presented to the chef after doing some research of my own regarding the blending of Vulcan and Human elements…in cooking."

"I see," said T'Riss carefully. She took another bite, as did T'Pol. "And did your research result in any other fortuitous combinations?"

"It is ongoing. I have discovered that Humans and Vulcans complement each other in many very unexpected ways," said T'Pol in an eminently satisfied tone of voice.

"I, too, have noticed this phenomenon while serving on _Lerteiran_," replied T'Riss.

"Yes. I understand that you have a Human serving with you, a Mister Johansen…David is it?" T'Pol inquired politely.

"Daniel. His name is Daniel." Even T'Riss herself noticed how possessively she'd said the man's name. T'Pol just took another bite of plomeek broth.

"And so, during your research, have you discovered any way to…expedite the process of blending, to…facilitate a more stable combination of elements?" T'Riss asked delicately. T'Pol raised a brow and considered the question for several seconds before answering.

"I have discovered that it is best to allow the elements to remain physically separate until they are ready to be permanently blended in order to retain their full flavors. Attempting to combine them too soon can cause difficulties…"

"How can I be certain that a combination will be successful unless I try it?" interjected T'Riss.

"You cannot," replied T'Pol regretfully. "That is the main source of difficulty. Theoretically, one could research the nature of each element, learn as much as possible about it, and formulate a theory regarding the probable success of such a blending."

"And when it is time for the elements to blend?" asked T'Riss.

"One must be certain that a permanent blend is desired, for once blended, the elements cannot be separated without destroying them."

Commander T'Pol's words struck fear into T'Riss. She took her last bite of plomeek broth, and then sat staring into the empty bowl for several seconds, attempting to regain control.

"T'Riss?" The commander's voice was unexpectedly gentle. T'Riss looked up.

"It is time to speak plainly." T'Pol said. "Your fear is understandable, but I am not the one you must confide in. Go to him. Talk to him. Be completely honest with him. And if he is the one you want, let nothing keep you from him." She pushed back from the table and stood. "Our time is up, but you may contact me if you ever need my help. Live long and prosper." The last was delivered in almost Human fashion, without hand gesture or rigid formality, but with a near smile on her lips. T'Riss was still sitting at the table with two empty bowls in front of her when T'Pol left the mess hall.

_I must be honest with him…but I must not mate with him until I am certain that we are compatible. Will he stay with me under those restrictions? Will he not wish to be sexually satisfied while waiting? Will I frighten him away if I tell him that it may not be possible for us to separate if he changes his mind?_

The sheer complexity of what she was attempting overwhelmed her, and she fought an impulse to rest her face in her hands in despair. She reviewed the Disciplines, casting out fear for several moments before rising to get a fresh bowl of plomeek broth for Daniel.

#

"You don't have to keep doing this, you know," sighed Daniel. "Go eat something. I'm fine now that the pain pill's kicked in." His body felt like a limp dishrag, and T'Riss's hands were wringing him out. The sensation should have been painful, and it had been when she'd started, but now that the knots were gone it just felt unbelievably good.

"The pain medication provides only temporary improvement, and your surgery only repaired the bone. Doctor Phlox said that the muscles and tendons will require several weeks to heal, and that the spasms will return without careful attention," replied T'Riss. "Sehlra agrees, and she is in command now that Jenrali is on his rest period. She has relieved me of my duties so that I may…"

"Sehlra says a lot of things," interrupted Daniel blurrily. "I'd take 'em with a grain of salt these days, if I were you. She's gone all soft since she started mooning over that boy toy of hers. If you ask me, all this matchmaking of hers is just frustrated lust."

"And so you believe that she will lose interest in pushing us together once she and Damin are reunited?" asked T'Riss. He bit back a groan when she leaned into his sacrum with all of her weight.

"Unh… prob'ly not, actually," Daniel admitted. "There's nothin' like gettin' laid to make a woman all mushy and sentimental. If she gives in and goes for it, things'll prob'ly just get worse." _Worse? What am I saying? _"Ummm…not that this is bad, mind ya. This is pretty darn far from bad, actually. I'm glad Sehlra told you to… I mean, I'm glad you decided to…"

"I am doing this of my own free will," replied T'Riss sharply.

_Uh-oh. _"Sure. I know that," he replied hastily. "And I'm grateful, believe me."

"Your gratitude is not required. I am concerned about your ability to function, and I am doing what I can to keep you healthy," she answered.

"Because it's your job as my potential mate?" he hazarded, feeling reckless.

"Yes. Would not a Human betrothed do the same?" she replied. Her hot hands began kneading the meat of his buttocks through the thin cotton of his boxers with impersonal vigor. He cleared his throat.

"Ummm…well…yeah. I guess so," he said in a strangled voice. "Except she'd probably say it was because she loved me." Her strokes became gentler, extending down to the backs of his thighs as she pondered his statement, and the room suddenly felt about ten degrees warmer.

"This term 'love'. What precisely does it mean? The Vulcan translations I have researched all seem inadequate," said T'Riss. Daniel chuckled.

"That's because it's really hard to define, especially in English," he told her.

"Considering the amount of Human literature devoted to the subject, one would think that a consensus could be reached," T'Riss replied. Shifting her weight, she straddled his hips as he lay face down on the bed and returned her attention to his mid back. Daniel tried his level best to ignore the heat of her across the backs of his thighs, pressing against his hips, but it was no use. _As long as she doesn't expect me to turn over any time soon, I'm okay_.

"Oh, there's a general definition," Daniel told her, a touch breathlessly. "But it's...," he paused to swallow and wet his lips. "inherently limited. English isn't a good language for describing emotions. It's a polyglot lingo that... just... got cobbled together... over the centuries... It works pretty well for things like war and trade, and it can get the job done well enough in technical matters, but it's not so good with Human feelings." He stopped to catch his breath. "For instance, I looked something up once. There's more than seventy different ways in English to say kill. There's 'terminate', which means 'to stop' all the way up to 'annihilate', which means 'to make into nothing'. In other words, to destroy something so completely that no trace remains."

It didn't work. Daniel had hoped that a long winded digression into something as dull as linguistics would help him get a handle on things. Unfortunately, while his brain and mouth prattled on with such foolishness, everything below the neck refused to be distracted from more important matters.

"What you tell me is not surprising for a race with a history as violent as your own," T'Riss told him calmly. She leaned back and began stroking him slowly in long sweeps from shoulder to buttocks and back again. Daniel felt his pulse start throbbing in his throat. He stifled a gasp.

"Yeah," he swallowed hard. "but we only have one... word... love, to describe... the feeling be... between mates, and... between parents and... children... and between siblings... and between... battle comrades and... pets and... any other tight... tight emotional... connection. One... word has to work... for all of them." He went limp and panted, as helpless as a newborn kitten.

T'Riss digested this in silence for a while. Then she started rocking against him with each firm stroke on his back, pushing his hips into the mattress, and he completely lost track of the conversation.

"You are sweating and flushed. Are you well?" she asked, after several seconds during which he was literally incapable of speech. She moved off of him and crouched down by the side of the bed. For the first time since they'd come to the mutual acceptance of their attraction for one another Daniel met her eyes while he was fully aroused. The concern on her face was blatant, belying the emotionless tone of their previous conversation. The pain pills had stripped him of his inhibitions, and he just couldn't help himself. He reached out with one hand around the back of her neck, pulled her lips to his, and kissed her. She offered no resistance.

Her lips remained closed and dry, innocent. He teased them open with the tip of his tongue and deepened the kiss, reaching blindly with his other arm around her waist to pull her atop him as he rolled to his back, ignoring his pain. He explored her mouth in a leisurely way for nearly a minute before coming up for air. In the final seconds, she began to respond to his kiss with hesitant caresses of her tongue on his lips. When he opened his eyes he found her staring down at him wide-eyed, breathing just as heavily as he was. He smiled at her.

"You'd never been kissed before, had you?" Daniel asked.

"It is not a Vulcan practice," T'Riss whispered, her gaze fixed on his lips. She blinked, and then looked away. "And contact with the mouth is considered too intimate to indulge in with …"

Daniel pressed a finger to her lips to silence her, tipped her chin back toward him, and gave her another kissing lesson.

#

After a subjectively interminable time―but only seven minutes and forty-two seconds by T'Riss's inner clock―Daniel stopped his determined effort to caress every millimeter of her skin from the neck up with his tongue and lay quietly beneath her with his arms wrapped around her waist. With her head resting on his chest, T'Riss could hear the frantic beating of his heart. Pulled fully against him, she could feel the rigid outline of the only portion of his anatomy over which he seemed to have no voluntary control. He was, she decided, in perfect control of his tongue.

"You okay?" He was breathless still.

_Okay. _The term was non-specific. Was feeling as if she were in the early stages of infection by the Ponfarr microbe "okay"? She didn't think so.

"I am well," she replied, a bit shakily.

"Good," he sighed, and wrapped his arms more tightly around her.

Several seconds later, when she realized that his aroused state had not abated in the least, T'Riss, reasoning that he was waiting for her to reciprocate, rolled to one side, reached a hand between them and placed her fingers in the proper position to complete the task at hand, just as she had been taught at Natolya's. She put the memories of her lessons aside and focused on technique. It was perhaps a less emotionally intimate activity than what they'd recently been engaging in, but it was the best alternative she could think of under the circumstances. Instead of relaxing and allowing her to proceed as she had expected, he froze as soon as she touched him.

"What're you doing?" he asked in a wary voice.

"You will rest better if you attain release," T'Riss replied, and proceeded to stroke vigorously for all of two seconds before he groaned, pulled her hand away from his body, and then rolled on top of her, pinning her to the mattress. Panic welled within her as his mouth covered hers hungrily and his pelvis thrust insistently against her, her newfound equilibrium destroyed by his abrupt aggressiveness, and she shoved without thinking. The thud his body produced when it hit the wall opposite the bunk was much louder than the whimpering sounds he made after sliding to the deck. T'Riss gazed at him in horror for a second, and then launched herself out of bed and to her knees beside him, trying to offer assistance. He pushed her away and stayed curled in a ball on the floor.

"What the hell was that!" he gasped through clenched teeth. Tears of pain leaked from beneath his closed eyelids.

"I am sorry. You took me by surprise," replied T'Riss, noting his obvious anger. It puzzled her. What had he expected? He'd given her no warning at all.

She placed a conciliatory hand on his arm and spoke softly in an attempt to calm him. "Please allow me to help you. You have injured yourself again."

"No shit, Sherlock," replied Daniel, a caustic but obscure reference she didn't recognize. He groaned and pushed himself to a sitting position against the bulkhead.

"Can I bring you medication? Perhaps something warm to drink if you insist on staying on the floor?" she suggested. He shook his head, looking at her like he'd never met her before.

"Why?" he protested, "Why did you do that?"

T'Riss cocked her head at him, trying to comprehend his reaction. "I was not prepared. You knew this. It was you who made the decision that it was not yet time for us to mate when you declined my offer two nights ago. Why did you attempt it again without further discussion?" Daniel sat looking at her with his mouth open, his jaw working like a landed sea creature.

"But…you…" he stammered, "I thought…" T'Riss blinked at him, waiting for him to finish. He gave a frustrated exhalation and then managed to get out a full sentence. "You started it!"

T'Riss cocked her head in the opposite direction. "At no time this evening did I inform you of any intent to mate with you. Indeed, I was under the impression that you were in agreement with waiting until I had better control of my…difficulties." She cleared her throat. Admitting the full extent of her terror to this man was not something she was capable of doing -at least not yet. Perhaps later it would be possible, once they'd gotten to know each other a little better.

"If grabbing me by the short hairs and pumping me like a well handle wasn't 'intent to mate with me' then what the hell was it?" Daniel demanded.

"It was exactly what I said it was," replied T'Riss. "You needed physical release. I was prepared to provide it."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "I've got two good hands, T'Riss. If all I wanted was 'physical release', I wouldn't need you," he said. T'Riss felt her face get warm. She knew of such practices, of course. There were few sexual matters of which she did not have first-hand knowledge,. But among Vulcans self-abuse was considered a shameful lapse of logic and control, something which a right-thinking person would never perform unless forced to do so by the indignities of Ponfarr, when it was commonly used as a temporizing measure to delay the plak-tau. Humans were obviously much more cavalier about the practice. She cleared her throat again.

"I assumed that you would prefer it if I…"

"No. I wouldn't," he interrupted. "I don't need 'servicing'. I need a partner. If you're not ready yet, don't start something you can't finish." His tone was hostile, and T'Riss bristled. He obviously had no idea of the extent of the effort she was making to please him. It was perhaps illogical to expect gratitude, but she expected at least an attempt on his part to comprehend her difficulty. Humiliation filled her. Apparently she was an unacceptable partner even for a member of a species notoriously willing to mate with anything.

"Very well," she replied, and stood. With effort she maintained an icily calm exterior. She took a step to the bedside table, retrieved a dose of pain medication from the bottle sitting on it, and poured Daniel a glass of water. Then she turned and handed them both to him. "Feel free to call out if you require assistance. I will be in my cabin," she told him, and made as dignified an exit as possible under the circumstances.

#

Daniel stared after the maddening woman in disbelief. "What the hell was THAT?" he repeated vehemently and rhetorically to the closed door. Cursing under his breath, he then rolled over and managed to get his hands flat on the floor under himself. By carefully avoiding sudden movement, he inched his way back to the bunk.

"Damn all women," Daniel muttered bitterly. "If they're not getting me pounded, they're pounding me themselves, or ripping my heart out and making me wish they would just pound me instead. Better off sticking with whores. Pay the money, get your rocks off, go on with your life." He made it to the edge of the bunk and struggled to work both arms up onto the edge. "She grabbed me! Reached right out and _grabbed me_. What did she THINK I was going to do? Pretend we were discussing politics?" He shook his head and dragged himself up across the bunk, groaning with effort and pain.

"Crazy woman. First she tries to make friends," he griped. "Then she kidnaps me. Then she feels all guilty and tries to make friends again. _THEN_she tries to mate with me. Not because she cares or anything, ya know. Just as a bribe to get me to marry her because she thinks nobody else will have her," he continued, with anger growing in his voice as he continued ranting quietly to himself.

Daniel let the irritation flood out the pain in his back, helping him squirm into a reasonably settled position on the bunk. "I told her I wouldn't push. So she makes a habit of _literally_ jumping my bones every night and running her hands all over me. _ALL OVER ME_. I told her I wouldn't do anything she didn't want me to do. Then she does everything short of peeling naked and spreading herself on me like butter on toast." He stopped to pant in painful indignation.

"THEN what does she do but grab me by the torpedo? Where in the galaxy is that _not_considered an open invitation?" He groaned and settled back on the pillow cursing silently to himself in frustration. To add injury to insult, he was still horny as a tomcat and too stubbornly angry to take care of it himself.

"She's insane," he concluded. "She's not just damaged. She's actually nuts. Only a suicidal fool would hook up with her. I'm actually lucky I realized it now, before we got too attached to each other," he told himself firmly.

Daniel closed his eyes and sternly lectured himself. "You need to steer clear of T'Riss from now on for anything not duty related." Her face appeared and he firmly shoved it aside. No. It didn't matter how soft she was, or how good she tasted. Or how...

"Stop it," he growled at himself. "She's a certifiable lunatic. Do you really want to be on the receiving end when she snaps? You felt what happened tonight, and she wasn't even mad. You saw what she did to Grigor-Tel when she got mad at him - and he was her bondmate! Voluntary or not, she was telepathically connected to him, but it didn't stop her from killing him, did it?" he asked himself rhetorically. "No, it did not," he answered himself. "Sure, she apologized for throwing you across the room just because you made the natural and _logical_conclusion based on her behavior. But that didn't help the pain, did it, Danny boy?"

Her eyes were dark wells of emotion, barely contained. Daniel knew, better than almost any other Human, about the deep fires that lay within the Vulcan heart. They were blazing near the surface in T'Riss. They warmed her gaze and touched him in ways that ...

"STOP IT!"

His shout filled the small cabin. Daniel gritted his teeth. _No way. No. Not again__._

"Not gonna happen this time, Danny boy. Not again. This time you're gonna show some sense and back off before you get shafted."

But she was so beautiful. And smart. And strong.

And dangerous as a pulse rifle on overload.

He moaned and rubbed his hands over his face. _What the hell am I supposed to do?_

TBC


	10. Chapter 10a

**The **_**Lerteiran **_**Chronicles**

**Episode Ten: What Women Want**

**By Blacknblue and Distracted**

**Genre: Action Adventure and R****omance**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Disclaimer: We don't own the Star Trek universe. We just go there to play. Honest. **

**We do, however, own our original characters and story ideas. You are welcome to borrow them, as long as no money changes hands. If we can't make anything from this, nobody else gets to either.**

**Summary: Selim's friendship with Raijiin gets him into serious trouble, Archer has to confront his fears, a very perplexed Daniel Johansen gets some words of wisdom from Trip Tucker, and Lerteiran takes on new passengers.**

###################################################

"Selim. You must come out. I will explain things to Commander T'Lar. If you delay it will only worsen the situation." Centurian Samel's voice sounded muffled, primarily because Selim was curled in a ball with his body stuffed as far into the ventilation shaft as he could go and still be able to see his hand in front of his face. "I know that you are in here. Shipboard sensors can detect your presence," continued Samel in a strained voice. Selim bit his lip to keep from smiling. Samel was often amusing. "It is nearly time for the evening meal," wheedled Samel. "There will be sweets…"

Selim debated his options while licking his sticky fingers. A pile of melon rinds lay beside him in the shaft. His sister was probably going to confine him to their cabin for skipping tutoring this afternoon to sneak into hydroponics and take the melon he'd eaten, but he'd been watching the melon grow as part of his xenobiology studies ever since he came aboard. It was perfectly ripe and scheduled to be delivered to the kitchen in the morning. The injustice inherent in allowing someone to eat the melon who had _not_ spent a quarter of an hour per day watering, fertilizing and recording the growth rate of said specimen of _cucumis melo _for the past several weekshad overcome his sense of propriety. The Terran fruit had literally been impossible to resist.

On the one hand, missing the evening meal and its associated sweets wasn't really an issue. His belly was so full he wasn't sure how he was going to get back out of the shaft. On the other hand, Samel was correct about T'Lar's probable response to any delay in responding to her summons. She really didn't like being kept waiting. He might end up confined to quarters for a week or more.

With a put-upon sigh, Selim began to scoot along on his bottom toward the grate, pushing the heap of gooey melon rinds in front of him and incidentally sopping up a puddle of melon juice with his trousers on his way out.

#

The entry buzzer sounded. Damin rose from the bunk in his small guest cabin on _Sehlat _to answer it. After checking his hair in the hall mirror and adjusting his multicolored pastel silk trousers and jacket, he paused before opening the door to prepare himself. He could sense Sehlra's discomfort through the door. Within her mind her concern for him battled with a conviction that her desire for him was obscene—akin to pedophilia. Her self-disgust made his stomach turn in sympathetic distress. He wanted to reassure her that her feelings were welcome and that he returned them, but he had bad news to deliver first. He closed his eyes and focused on removing every trace of worry from his features. There had to be a way to do this that wouldn't make her hate him.

_I am hers. I live to please her. Her happiness is my chief concern. _ He opened his eyes, put on his most seductive smile, and opened the door.

Selhra's eyes widened and her pupils dilated in response to his appearance. Damin felt as if the temperature of the hallway rose by five degrees just looking at her. Her reflected desire took his breath away. She half-smiled, looking uncomfortable and radiating embarrassment. Her strong and expressive features, easy to read even without telepathy, showed relief at finding him basically whole and healthy. Her eyes searched his face, making note of every scrape and bruise, he was certain, because he suddenly felt the flare of her anger. Her smile vanished.

"You look pretty good for a Romulan reject. What happened? You too pretty for them to keep?" she told him with harsh humor. He continued to smile at her, looking deeply into her eyes.

"Thank you for coming," he told her softly, ignoring her tone. "Please come in." He stepped aside to allow her into the small cabin behind him, forcing her to approach within inches of him to do so. Damin closed his eyes as she passed, inhaling the familiar and unaccountably pleasing odor of machine oil and degreasers that always seemed to cling to her hair and clothes. There was something else today—a richly bitter aroma. _Chocolate._ He had to force himself to keep his hands by his side.

Damin opened his eyes to find Sehlra standing in the center of the cabin with her arms crossed over her chest and a no-nonsense expression on her face.

"Look, Damin. I'm happy that you're not hurt, but I'm here for business, not pleasure. Don't get any ideas." As if the sexual heat she was radiating wasn't giving him ideas enough. Damin couldn't help himself.

"I'd love to do some business with you," he teased suggestively in a husky voice. Selhra humphed in reluctant amusement and shook her head.

"You called me. You said you had a business proposition for _Lerteiran_, but that you'd only talk to me. So talk."

So that was the way she wanted to play it. He sighed and walked over to the bed, sitting on the edge rather than lounging seductively as he would have done otherwise. He waited for her to join him, but she made no move to do so. So he began talking.

"First of all, there are some things I need to tell you about myself. I hope you will forgive me when I say that I have not been completely forthright about my past." Damin took a deep breath and watched her expression.

Sehlra hooded her eyes. "What did you lie about?" She didn't sound happy.

"Nothing," he told her honestly. "I didn't actually lie about anything. I just didn't tell you the full truth about who I am and where I come from."

Sehlra's face cleared. "Is that all? Don't worry about it, Damin. You have a right to your privacy."

"Perhaps so," he said with a half smile. "But there are some things that I want you to know. The first thing I need to tell you is that although I have sold my services to the highest bidder since I came of age, I am not a sex worker." Damin met Sehlra's eyes squarely. She didn't look surprised. "You know that I was a fugitive from the Romulans. What you don't know is that I wasn't just Romulan bait during the mission to rescue the hostages. They want me because of what I can do… and because no operative leaves the Tal Shiar alive." Sehlra's jaw tightened.

"I'm half Romulan," he admitted reluctantly, finally. Sehlra's nostrils flared. "And half Betazoid," he pointed out. "I inherited my father's people's telepathic skills. Since I defected from the Tal Shiar I've used them to good effect in the employ of dozens of governments and private individuals." That caused Sehlra's antennae to straighten in surprise, and she sank down on the edge of the mattress beside him to take it all in.

"So you're an intelligence operative, then," she said, accepting his statement at face value. Her eyes narrowed. "Who are you working for now?"

"For the moment…the Vulcan Security Directorate," he told her honestly. Sehlra spat a curse in Andorian, her antennae twisting in anger. "But when I was aboard _Lertieran _I was working for the Humans, and in three weeks I'll be working for the Betazoids. I'm definitely an equal opportunity telepath."

"And no doubt you were working for the Orions on the station," growled Sehlra.

"I have worked for employers with less respect for sentient life than the Orions in my career. There are worse things," Damin countered mildly. Sehlra sighed.

"Why tell me this now?" she asked with forced tolerance. "You could have continued the charade."

"My current employers need assistance from _Lerteiran. _They're willing to pay handsomely. I thought it best to be completely honest with you, considering the situation." His gaze met Sehlra's openly, and he waited. He could sense her perplexity regarding his sudden honesty—and her apprehension.

"What do they need?" she asked finally.

"They're requesting the transport of three agents of the Vulcan Security Directorate from this station to Risa, one way, no questions asked. In return, you've been offered favored trading status at every Vulcan-owned port in known space. No out-system fees. No import taxes. First choice on available contracts with Vulcan export companies before any other non-Vulcan vessel." Sehlra blinked at that.

"Why so much?" she asked incredulously. "What do they expect us to do? Fight off a Romulan armada on the way there?"

Damin smiled wryly. "Not quite," he said.

#

The beep of his alarm brought Daniel out of a restless sleep. The deep ache in his lower back was much worse without pain meds in his system. It was over a minute before he mustered the courage to roll over and turn the alarm off. A second after he'd done so there was a knock on the door of his quarters.

"Do you require assistance?" T'Riss's voice sounded concerned and very repentant. Daniel cursed under his breath.

"No, I don't. You've done enough, thank you," he called out sarcastically in a voice hoarse from lack of sleep. Then he rolled with excruciating care out of bed and crawled to the head.

After pulling himself to semi-standing by the towel rack on the wall, Daniel started a hot shower going and retrieved four non-narcotic pain relievers from a bottle he kept in the cabinet over the sink. They probably weren't going to help much, but he'd never reported to duty stoned and he wasn't about to start now. Chewing the bitter pills, he stepped into the shower and spent fifteen minutes there before he was able to stand upright. It took ten more minutes for him to shave and change, leaving only five minutes left for breakfast, coffee, and travel time to the bridge. He wasn't going to make it.

Resigned to skipping breakfast, Daniel opened the door of his cabin to find T'Riss standing there with a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a large muffin in the other. She handed them to him without meeting his eyes and then stepped aside to allow him to precede her. He just looked at her for a second before taking a bite of the muffin. It was still warm.

"You _made_ this?" he asked incredulously with his mouth full. He'd had real blueberry muffins perhaps twice in his lifetime, but the small purplish chunks within the tender muffin sure tasted like blueberries to him. T'Riss nodded.

"I have purchased several types of baking mix from _Enterprise. _Sehlra informed me that you enjoy freshly baked items. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, so it is only logical that I…"

"That you would make me muffins for breakfast," he finished, completely floored by the image of T'Riss in the kitchen with an apron on playing Susie Homemaker. "Right." He shook his head and took another huge bite, continuing to walk—very slowly and carefully—toward the access ladder to the bridge. At the foot of the ladder, he took a sip of the coffee and eyed the steps above his head dubiously.

T'Riss took his coffee and the remains of his muffin out of his hands without being asked. She balanced the muffin precariously atop the coffee cup and proceeded to climb the ladder using one hand. Daniel watched her disappear up the companionway with reluctant admiration. "Showoff," he muttered. Then he gritted his teeth, grasped the ladder in both hands and followed her up. After the first step, it really wasn't so bad. The hard part was hauling himself up to the bridge from the last rung in full gravity. He stopped to rest, breathing hard where T'Riss couldn't see him. And then a slender hand appeared in front of his face.

"The captain is in the galley. Take my hand. I will help you," said T'Riss quietly. Daniel debated refusing, but decided that pride could wait until he was sitting down. He grasped her offered hand and she hauled him up in one smooth motion. The skin contact lasted only a second, but Daniel was conscious of a sudden burst of shame and remorse that definitely wasn't his. He eyed T'Riss cautiously, rubbing the palm of the hand she'd gripped with his other hand, and slowly lowered himself into his chair. The pain wasn't bad unless he leaned back, which was sort of odd. After his first injury, which he now knew to be a vertebral fracture, sitting had made the pain worse. Maybe there was something else wrong this time. When his shift was over if the pain wasn't better, he promised himself, he'd go and see Phlox. Again.

T'Riss placed his coffee and his muffin on the console in front of him without a word and then took her station. Daniel took another bite and washed it down with coffee. There was total silence on the bridge. He sighed, starting up the maintenance and diagnostic programs for the weapons systems. It was going to be a very long duty shift.

#

Selim bit his lip and held his breath as he reached with a tiny magnetic screwdriver into the bowels of the ancient sensor baffle and replaced the last carefully refurbished component. He inspected the device, deciding that Centurion Samel would approve. Indeed, the old relic was so clean and shiny that it seemed a shame that modern power cells were useless in it. Of course, the fact that it was impossible to get the sensor baffle working again without a power cell was probably one of the reasons that Samel had considered it safe to give it to Selim for his sensor technology project in the first place. Selim sighed wistfully at the thought of what he could do with a _functioning_ sensor baffle.

Selim closed the access panel and buckled the woven fiber belt around his waist. Then he walked into T'Lar's bedroom to look at himself in the full length mirror. He raised a cool and daring brow, standing with feet spread wide and his hands on his hips. Slung low, the belt made him look like a cross between a Sundering age secret agent and a Human gunslinger from the bootleg Earth westerns his sister disliked. He did a quick-draw of an imaginary revolver, dry fired at his reflection with a silently mouthed "bang", then holstered it. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, dissatisfied with pretense.

Behind him, his sister's collection of antique devices, all _functional_, of course, since _she _was grown and in charge here, sat in a carefully dusted row on a shelf above her bed. Selim studied it in the mirror, the beginnings of an idea taking shape in his mind. Time of Sundering artifacts often had a similar appearance, an aesthetically primitive yet more streamlined silhouette which clearly differentiated them from more modern devices. The curved metallic "buckle" of the belt around his waist was one such artifact. The ancient data recording device on the shelf behind him was another. And it worked. He'd seen his sister operate it. He wasn't even supposed to be here in her room, much less touching her collection, but once the idea occurred to him it was impossible to dispel. Fifteen minutes later T'Lar's precious two-thousand-plus-year-old data recorder was back on the shelf minus its power cell and Selim was the proud owner of a fully operational sensor baffle.

Now for the cabin door. T'Lar had set it so that it could not be unlocked from the inside as long as ship's sensors detected that he was the only occupant of the cabin. Selim wasn't sure if she'd set it to allow easier egress when he wasn't in the cabin, but he suspected that she had. And he had an eidetic memory. The code that T'Lar used each morning to exit the cabin worked admirably, and soon Selim was free. He headed straight for Raijiin's cabin to show her his project, narrowly missing discovery twice before reaching the access shaft that ran to the deck below him. His heart pounding with the excitement of two close calls, he keyed in the code that Centurion Samel had used the last time he'd brought Selim with him on a maintenance run and opened the hatch.

The access hatch was well-oiled and silent. He'd made sure of it his first week on board. He closed it behind him and climbed the ladder down one level in the dark. For a second he wondered why the lights hadn't brightened automatically when he entered as they usually did, and then he remembered. The ship's sensors couldn't "see" him now. He tried to remember whether there were twenty-five or thirty rungs between levels, and at a count of twenty-five he began stopping at every rung to feel along the wall of the tunnel for the access hatch, deliberately _not_ thinking about the expanse of access shaft extending several decks below him in the pitch black darkness and what would happen if he missed his footing. To his relief, the hatch was just past the thirtieth rung.

Selim cracked the hatch open a few millimeters. He could see two people walking, approaching from far down the corridor which dead ended at the access hatch he was hiding behind. He squinted. One of them looked a little familiar. The other one looked Andorian and more than just a little frightening. She was gesturing dramatically, probably miming some brutal act of violence.

"I'll speak to Jenrali about it, but I swear by the Mother, Damin, if that Raijiin bitch so much as looks at Daniel I'll rip her head off with my bare hands and space the remnants."

Selim's blood ran cold. _She's going to hurt Raijiin!_

Her companion wasn't just a handsome man. He was beautiful in a way that a piece of art or a woman could be beautiful. Selim remembered him from his time in captivity at Natolya's. He was behaving much as he had then, smiling and placating the angry Andorian.

"There won't be any need for violence, Sehlra. I've told you. Senek has her completely under his control." The two of them turned into a cross corridor and Selim lost sight of them.

_I knew it. I hate Senek. He's mean. _

Selim had come to that conclusion only a few days previously, after Agent Senek had roundly scolded Raijiin for spending time with Selim against his sister's wishes. The old Vulcan was a tyrant. He was worse than T'Lar. The little boy gritted his teeth, climbed out of the hatch, and headed down the corridor at a brisk walk. He needed to warn Raijiin, but first he had to get some help, just in case. Llahir had been an agent on Romulus. He was tougher than old sourpuss Senek any day, and he liked Raijiin. Selim could tell. Llahir would be able to help Raijiin break free from Senek. But first Selim had to reach him.

He felt proudly confident that a Time of Sundering agent could not have shown more resourcefulness in evading the attention of passing crewpersons than he did on his way to Llahir's quarters. Selim took advantage of his size to duck beneath consoles and slither behind access panels whenever he heard footsteps approaching. Finally he reached the door to Llahir's quarters and stretched up to activate the announcement button. The hatch slid aside to reveal the battle scarred agent looking down at him with a puzzled expression.

"Agent Llahir," Selim spoke quickly. "Let me in. I must not be seen, and it is imperative that I speak with you." Quirking an eyebrow, the older man stepped to one side and Selim slipped gratefully through the doorway.

#

Daniel finished the last bite of muffin and washed it down with another sip of coffee. He looked at T'Riss, hunched intently over the piloting console with her eyes glued to the readouts. Of course, since they were docked and the drive was powered down, there was absolutely nothing to see on the piloting readouts.

"That was the best muffin I've had in years. Thanks." Her head moved slightly.

"It is agreeable that you enjoyed it," she said softly. Silence followed.

_All right. I guess it's up to me to start the ball rolling._

Daniel sighed. "After what happened last night, I've been thinking that maybe we should reconsider things."

T'Riss turned in her chair and looked at him with desolation in her eyes. "I understand," she told him in a hoarse whisper. "You do not wish to make a commitment to someone as damaged as I am." Daniel sighed again.

"T'Riss, I have no way of predicting what you might do or why you might do it. I have no idea why you behaved the way you did last night, none whatsoever. I don't know what I said or did to trigger your attack." He stopped when she flinched and hunched her shoulders. He went on more gently, "I have no way of knowing how to avoid doing it again. I believe you when you say that you regret it, but that won't help me if you break my neck next time, will it?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and clenched her interlaced fingers together until both hands turned pale. "You frightened me."

Daniel blinked. "I what?" She opened her eyes and gave him an exasperated look.

"You frightened me. You ask what you did to trigger my 'attack'. I was afraid."

"But- but- but…" Daniel sputtered to a stop and stared at her. T'Riss continued, staring at the far wall as if she could not bring herself to meet his eyes.

"When you rolled atop me, I thought you intended to initiate copulation, and I reacted out of fear." She looked down.

Daniel sat silently for a moment while he struggled to decide where to begin. "You!" He paused and started over in a more normal tone. "You were holding me in your hand. Do you remember that? You had already issued an open invitation to mate with me whenever I wanted, and then," despite his best efforts, his voice rose slightly, "and then you grabbed me. Among Humans that equals 'Let's Do It'!"

T'Riss looked up at him dolefully. "Clearly the fault is mine for not researching Human mating protocols."

"Uh," Daniel wet his lips and smiled weakly. "I don't know if you could have found that in a reference. But we could have worked out the confusion by talking. You didn't have to toss me across the room. If you had just said 'stop' I would have stopped."

"You…" T'Riss seemed floored. "You would have been able to do that?"

"Of course," Daniel replied, disgruntled. "I'm not an animal." At her flinch he winced and hurriedly added, "I mean, I possess sufficient self-discipline to suppress my instinctive responses. And I'm not subject to anything like the Pon Farr which would overwhelm my control." He started to lean back again without thinking and quickly decided not to.

She regarded him with wondering respect. "I believe you. I have never encountered a male before who could maintain control under such circumstances. Or who would be willing to try."

"I told you what my people do to rapists." Daniel twisted his mouth. "Despite Vulcan propaganda, we are not at the mercy of our emotions. We can't help feeling and expressing them, but we can certainly control our actions. And if we don't control our actions, we suffer the consequences for it under Human law."

"Does this mean," she swallowed, "that you now desire to copulate with me?"

Daniel sat with his mouth open for a moment. Then he shut it and sighed. "No. Not until you can prove that you won't kill me for it." She winced. "How could you have been afraid of me? I would never hurt you. Besides, I couldn't hurt you even if I wanted to in the shape I'm in. I'm soft as a marshmallow from all this time in low grav.

"I am aware of this intellectually," T'Riss conceded. "But my surprise overrode intellect and my instinctive reactions took control."

"I always knew Vulcans reacted badly to surprises," Daniel muttered, half to himself, "but this is extreme even for a Vulcan." He looked at her. "So you're trying to tell me that you won't attack me as long as I don't scare you or catch you by surprise? I'm tired of being tactful, T'Riss. You're a great girl. You're beautiful and smart, and I like everything I've found out about you so far. But I really don't want to die."

She stared at him. "I would never deliberately cause you pain or distress."

Daniel told her, "Maybe so. But I'm still trying to understand what's going on inside your head. I need to know where I stand, and why. Does that make any sense?"

"Certainly." She continued to stare. "Do you mean that because you now realize I acted out of fear last night, you are willing to reconsider taking me as a mate?"

Daniel shrugged. "I understand fear. I also understand mis-communication. It's obvious now that I read too much into the situation. But you have to understand..." He hesitated for several seconds. "I know you've been hurt, badly hurt and abused by men before. I sympathize. I really do sympathize. But I have also seen firsthand what you're willing to do to men who hurt you. I'm... I hope you aren't offended. But I can't forget what how ruthless you were willing to be in order to get the chance to kill Grigor-Tel. I...," he searched for words.

Daniel watched T'Riss close her eyes and tighten the muscles around her mouth. "Understood. Given my past behavior, it is only logical that you would be cautious." She turned away. "I am unworthy."

"Crap. That wasn't what I meant." Daniel rubbed his brow and drained the coffee cup. "Look. Killing that lardass isn't a mark against you in my book. If you were Human, I would even call it a point in your favor. That might make me a barbarian, but so be it." T'Riss turned back to look at him in chagrin.

She said, "I have reflected at length on my behavior in that matter. I do not grieve Grigor-Tel's death. But nothing about my behavior during that period was praiseworthy."

"True," Daniel agreed, and watched her eyebrow rise. "But you had every right to demand payback by my standards. Like you said, it isn't killing him, it's how you went about it that worries me. That, plus your unpredictability, makes me wonder when I might accidentally say or do something to make you go off like a torpedo." She pressed her lips together.

"So you are no longer willing to consider me as a mate." She nodded, looking sad.

"I didn't say that," Daniel told her impatiently. "Quit putting words in my mouth. I'm still willing to consider it if you are. I'm just a little nervous."

T'Riss took a deep breath and nodded grimly. "There is also something else that you should know."

"What would that be?" he asked her, shifting uncomfortably. His back was starting to throb.

"I have discussed our situation with Commander T'Pol, aboard _Enterprise_," she told him.

"You have? Why?" But even as he asked the answer occurred to him. "I suppose she _has_ been hanging out with Humans more than any other Vulcan in history. Did she have any advice?" Cripes, his back was really getting sore now.

"She is bonded to Commander Tucker, the Human Chief Engineer," T'Riss revealed.

"What?" Daniel straightened suddenly, and sincerely wished that he had not done that an instant later when his back shrieked like a banshee.

"You are in pain," said T'Riss. "Did you take the medication that Dr. Phlox prescribed?"

"I am not going to stand watch when I'm drugged or drunk," he informed her truculently. "I can deal wi…" He gasped and cut off in mid-word.

"You require additional medical attention," T'Riss decided. She activated the intercom and spoke, "Jenrali or Sehlra to the control room. Medical emergency."

"Oh shit, T'Riss," Daniel moaned. "That's going to bring both of them at a flat run. It isn't that bad."

"You let me be the judge of that, boy," Sehlra demanded as she came up the ladder in a flying rush. "What happened?"

"It's not that big a deal," Daniel protested. "T'Riss overreacted."

"Overreacted to what, lad?" Jenrali came up the ladder at a slightly more sedate pace, but only slightly. His sharp eyes took in the tableau in one sweeping scan as he moved to the pilot's seat automatically. T'Riss moved aside and let him have it.

"It's my back again," Daniel reluctantly explained. "It's nothing, really."

"That is factually inaccurate, Daniel." T'Riss stood stiffly, as she had when she faced Commander T'Lar for her hearing and demotion. "Daniel suffered additional injury last night, and this morning his pain is significantly increased. He requires another visit to the Human sickbay."

"It's. Not. That. Bad." Daniel insisted between clenched teeth.

"Really?" Sehlra asked mildly. "Then stand up, walk over here, and touch your toes."

Daniel's temples tightened, but he grabbed the console and levered himself to his feet. Carefully placing one foot in front of another he made it three steps before a shaft of agony made his right knee buckle. T'Riss and Sehlra caught him on the way down. "Sonuvabitch!" he seethed while they settled him back in his seat.

"What happened last night?" Jenrali wanted to know. "What did you do to yourself?"

"I… got careless," Daniel said, not looking at T'Riss.

T'Riss stepped back and folded her hands behind her back. She lifted her chin and said, "Once again, Daniel, your statement is not factually correct. The blame for your injury is entirely mine."

"Really." Sehlra looked at her. "And just what did _you_ do then, girl?"

"I," T'Riss swallowed. "I…injured Daniel last night while we were together in his quarters."

"How?" Jenrali asked remorselessly.

T'Riss stiffened and the Vulcan mask fell into place with a nearly audible clang. "I lost control of my reflexes."

"You're dodging the question, girl," Sehlra said ominously.

"Oh crap," Daniel exploded. "If you must know, we were in bed together. Does that satisfy your curiosity? I rolled over on top of T'Riss, and she reacted, and we both forgot about how much stronger she is, and I hurt my back. All right?"

Perfect silence reigned for a few seconds, until Jenrali snorted in amusement followed almost instantly by a deep sigh of resignation from Sehlra. "Lad," the old man started lecturing, "I understand. Really, I do. I remember what it was like to be young and hot-blooded. And the Mother knows that you have done without long enough to have a lot of catching up to do. But you are going to have to wait until you heal up a little bit first. At least try to take it a bit easier, will you? Let her be on top next time."

"Excellent advice," Sehlra said briskly. "Girl," she turned to T'Riss, who stood nearby looking humiliated. "Get on the comm and tell the Humans that we are coming over with Daniel again. With his luck he will probably be there for a day or two, so you stick around and be ready to come back here for anything he might need, like fresh underwear," she grinned. "Assuming you think he needs any." T'Riss turned emerald.

#

The boy stood in the center of Llahir's small quarters with a determined look on his face. He wore a baggy ship's coverall at least two sizes big for him and had a ratty woven fiber belt around his waist which bore a strange looking buckle. Llahir had seen the like before, but the context escaped him. Being an only child and childless himself, Llahir had very little experience with children. Because of that he usually got along very well with them, for he tended to take their opinions seriously rather than dismiss them as he'd seen other adults do. But even Llahir recognized a game of dress-up when he saw one, and he had more important things to do than to humor the spoiled younger brother of this ship's commander.

"What may I do for you, Selim?" he asked in a patient tone. "Would you like for me to call Raijiin?" The three of them had begun a habit of taking tea and gingerbread in the afternoons. The boy was probably circumventing his sister's prohibition against contact with the telepath by coming here. Llahir saw no logic in forbidding him contact with the only other person in his young life capable of understanding what he'd been through during his captivity with the Orions. The boy hadn't volunteered the tale and Llahir hadn't asked, but he'd had enough experience with depravity during his time with the Romulans to suspect that he didn't want to know the details.

"Raijiin is in danger," the child blurted. At Llahir's raised brow, Selim took a deep breath and said in a rush, "I think Senek has Raijiin trapped and won't let her get away!" Despite his attempts at Vulcan control, the boy's voice cracked just slightly and his thick-lashed eyes grew moist, presenting a most heart-rending picture.

Selim was small for his age even for Vulcans, who tended to mature more slowly than Romulan children. His wide-eyed distress made him seem even younger and more helpless. Llahir felt an overwhelming urge to protect the boy despite knowing full well that Selim was not in danger. It was almost as if Selim instinctively knew the best way to incite such a reaction. At the same time, Llahir's more practical side was admiring the judgment of the slavers who'd chosen to save this particular child from the mines where the other captives from _The Plains of Gol_ had supposedly been sent. With proper training, there was no limit to what this boy might accomplish.

"Agent Senek and Agent-in-Training Raijiin work together, Selim," replied Llahir. "It would be most illogical of him to harm her." Selim let out a frustrated breath.

"I know that. Raijiin explained to me that Agent Senek is training her to be an agent just like he is," replied Selim. "But I heard the Andorian woman say that she wanted to hurt Raijiin, and then the beautiful man said…"

"You mean Damin?" inquired Llahir with dry amusement. It was an accurate, if rather subjective description of the Betazoid.

"Yes. The one who was with us at Natolya's. He said that Senek has Raijiin under his control." The child's concern was obviously sincere.

"Control? Do you mean mental control?" asked Llahir. He considered the child's statement. It was a theoretical possibility, he supposed. Llahir had done an information search in the _Sehlat's _database on both Senek and Raijiin shortly after he'd met them-without success, as his security clearance had yet to be reinstated. All of his information about the two of them had therefore come from Raijiin. Llahir had known better than to take the information at face value, of course. Raijiin would never have survived so long had she not been an accomplished teller of half-truths. He respected her for the skill, one he'd been forced to develop as well during his years with the Romulans. But it had never occurred to him to consider the possibility that she was being forced to conceal her true circumstances.

Was she in fact an unwitting tool of Senek and the Security Directorate? She seemed content with her lot, but he was no judge of her state of mind unless she volunteered the information. Llahir had always been unusually insensible to both telepathic and empathic contact. His unprecedented inability to form a betrothal bond had made him an ideal candidate for an extended undercover mission to Romulan space. Even Damin, by his own report a very powerful telepath, had barely been able to force his way through the fortress of Llahir's insensitivity during their shared mission. Selim, on the other hand, was—once again according to Raijiin—an impressively talented empath. If anyone were able to sense her true feelings about her situation, he would be a likely candidate. Perhaps Selim was correct in his supposition that Raijiin was an unwilling captive. It seemed prudent to at least investigate the boy's suspicions.

"I thought maybe you could help me help her," said Selim wistfully.

"I will discover Senek's intentions. If he intends to harm Raijiin, I will protect her," Llahir promised, despite the fact that he had no idea how to accomplish such a feat. Selim took the offer at face value and nodded briskly, as if they were adult co-conspirators.

"Excellent," he said. "I will leave you to it, then. I'm going to check on Raijiin." Before Llahir was able to voice an objection, Selim left him standing alone in his cabin. A second later Llahir remembered where he'd seen the design of the boy's belt buckle.

A sensor baffle? It had to be. Nothing else was worn that way. The design was Pre-Sundering. It had to be a toy. The power cells for such a thing hadn't been manufactured in at least three hundred years. It wasn't operational, of course. It couldn't be.

#

The door signal went off and Commander T'Lar looked up from her report writing. "Come." The portal slid open to admit Agent Senek. She inclined her head in response to his nod, maintaining strict composure despite her unusual impatience at the interruption.

"Commander," Senek began. "I have come to advise you that our efforts to secure passage aboard the Andorian freighter have been successful. It was necessary to reveal Raijiin's identity since the Betazoid refused to operate clandestinely, but the Andorians have agreed to accept her presence under confinement as long as she remains under control."

"What of the Human?" T'Lar asked sharply. "He was the one she attacked. It would seem that the greatest potential source of conflict would originate with him."

"Both Andorians assure me that Daniel Johansen will obey orders regardless of his personal opinions," Senek told her. "Captain Jenrali in particular is confident that the Human's loyalty is absolute. He may resent Raijiin's presence, but he will not attack her unless ordered to do so by his superiors."

"It would be agreeable to believe that there are some logical Humans in the galaxy," T'Lar sighed. She sat back and glanced down at the report she was working on. _An agreeable belief, but so far it fails to correspond with my experience, _she thought, frustrated.

"May I inquire as to the status of the negotiations?" Senek asked delicately.

"You may certainly inquire," T'Lar told him in a dry tone. "At the moment the negotiations are stalled. Captain Archer is indisposed. Reportedly, he has contracted a mildly debilitating infection that requires bed rest and also requires him to remain in quarantine. Commander T'Pol is commanding the Human ship for now, and is under instructions from Starfleet to postpone diplomatic exchanges of information until Captain Archer is again fit for duty."

Senek raised one eyebrow. "The Human ecosystem is rife with microbial and viral agents in addition to a host of other more esoteric and less pleasant forms of life. The story is quite plausible."

"Also quite convenient," T'Lar told him. "I suspect that they are busily analyzing and cross-referencing the data provided by Llahir while simultaneously interrogating that Romulan Commander using every method known to science."

"It is what we would be doing," Senek agreed. T'Lar paused, then tilted her head ruefully in agreement.

"What is to be done with Agent Llahir?" T'Lar wanted to know. "Will he be charged with treason?"

"Unlikely," Senek told her. "After having spent so many years out of contact with our people while under deep cover, it is only to be expected that his logic would be distorted. Ultimately, all he did was to provide general information to a trusted ally - information that he knew they would probably be able to gain from other sources eventually in any case. He may be reprimanded, but I would be surprised if it went beyond that."

T'Lar relaxed a trifle. "Good. He has sacrificed much for Vulcan. He should receive rewards commensurate with his sacrifices." She reached for a padd. "The final approval for Most Favored Trading Status arrived a few moments ago." She handed him the padd. "The identification and authorization codes are keyed to you and Agent-in-Training Raijiin. You may transfer them to the crew of _Lerteiran_ at your discretion." She eyed him. "Are you quite certain that this is wise, Agent Senek?"

"Wise?" Senek ruefully replied, slipping the padd into a pocket. "By no means." He tugged at the hem of his tunic and squared his shoulders. "But I am certain that it is unavoidable. Given the politico-military situation in the quadrant at present, we cannot afford to waste any time in returning Agent Llahir to Vulcan for debriefing. I fear that what he has already revealed will be enough to cause a second purge of the government and fleet personnel."

T'Lar shook her head. "It is difficult to comprehend how the Romulans could have infiltrated our institutions so thoroughly. Is it possible that the information Llahir carries could be inaccurate?"

"Unlikely," Senek told her soberly. "He served as second-in-command aboard a Romulan warship with a commanding officer that had close links to the Tal Shiar, the Romulan Military Intelligence agency. No. Unfortunately, I believe we must accept his data as dependable."

T'Lar closed her eyes in resignation. "I do not envy your task, Agent Senek. I much prefer open conflict, even if it does occasionally require diplomatic negotiations with Humans."

Senek's mouth twitched. "I have taken the liberty of speaking to my former student on this matter," T'Lar's head came up and she gave him a sharp look. "Strictly in confidence and off the record, of course," he hastily added. T'Lar raised an interested brow. "She assures me, again off the record, that Starfleet will be eager to trade any information they manage to extract from their prisoner in return for full access to our Romulan database." He paused. "Commander Tucker even told me, and he was exquisitely careful to point out that this was merely speculation on his part, that if the information was offered in advance Vulcan observers might be invited to observe the interrogation."

T'Lar started absently tapping one fingernail on her desk. "That… would be most agreeable."

"Again," Senek emphasized, "he made particular mention of the fact that he is only third in command and that he does not have the authority to authorize this himself. T'Pol informs me, however, that her adun and Captain Archer have been close friends for many years. Also, Commander Tucker possesses considerable influence with Starfleet command in his own right. His suggestions will be heeded."

"I will make the offer," T'Lar decided. "If it is not accepted, there will be no harm done. If it is accepted, the High Council will at least be able to obtain the information unfiltered and with minimal delay."

#

"Well," Daniel stopped talking long enough to take a few breaths without interrupting the steady pace of their walk, "at least this is more dignified than being carried."

His left arm was draped casually around T'Riss and his right arm was wrapped around Sehlra. Between them, the two women had each slipped an arm around Daniel's waist and were holding him upright while he used them as live crutches. If the three of them maintained a sedate pace along the docking bay, a casual observer would probably conclude that they were simply out for a stroll, although the sight of a Vulcan and an Andorian affectionately sandwiching a Human between them would surely provoke comments in its own right.

"Don't worry about it, boy," Sehlra had chuckled when Daniel pointed this out. "With the reputation your people have, everyone will just assume it takes both of us to handle you." Daniel coughed and T'Riss, who had maintained a deep green complexion since the episode in the control room, looked ready to sink into the floor.

"You seem cheerful," Daniel smirked as he mustered enough air to force a pretense of conversation. "I take it that Damin is doing all right?" His eyes sparkled.

Sehlra's lips pressed together. "He's fine." She softened. "He brought us in some new business, too."

"Good," Daniel told her. "Starting to pull his weight already." He smiled impishly at her glower. "What kind of business? More passengers? Cargo?"

She relaxed her disapproving look. "The most profitable contract we have ever taken, boy. Jenrali and I had just finished up the details when T'Riss called us. Didn't have time to brief you about it, but you will doing a handspring, back or no back, once you hear it." She smiled broadly.

Daniel brightened. "Good news? Nice. What is it?"

Sehlra glanced around the docking bay. As large as it was, no one was in their near vicinity. "All right. Odds are it's no big secret anyway. But don't go blabbing it on that Human ship, either of you." Daniel and T'Riss both nodded. She pulled them close into a huddle and took a last glance around to make sure that no one would overhear. "We're hauling that Vulcan spy and a couple more of them to Risa with us, so they can catch a ship to Vulcan. The payoff is Most Favored trading status."

Daniel's jaw dropped open. "You can't be serious." T'Riss blinked and stared. Sehlra smiled broadly and nodded, obviously pleased with the response she had provoked.

"Yes, I am serious." She chuckled. "They are on a slicer's edge right now. They have to get him back, and all their ships are committed here. After the growling match they had with the Humans, they don't want to ask them for help, which leaves us as the only ones who can do the job. So Damin pinned them down and choked it out of them for us."

T'Riss looked back and forth from the Andorian to the Human. "This is almost unheard of. In fact, for an Andorian vessel to be granted this status _is_ unheard of."

Daniel stared into distance, mentally calculating. "By the pickled liver of Zephram Cochrane," he whispered in awe. "Do you realize what this means, Sehlra? We're rich. I mean, really rich."

"Not yet, boy, but we will be soon enough." They started walking again. Daniel seemed to have fallen into a daze.

"But this…" he paused and brightened. "This means that we can afford to pay the duties and taxes on Terran goods, and still come out ahead. Sehlra!" He looked at her, excited. "Chocolate. With the reward money from Grigor-Tel we can fill the hold at Earth full of bitter dark chocolate and sell…"

"No!" T'Riss interrupted indignantly. She glared. "Chocolate is contraband on Vulcan, Daniel. You of all people are aware of this."

"Sure it is, T'Riss," he placated her, "but it's not contraband on Stavlas 5, now is it?" Daniel saw Sehlra's eyes brighten and shared a gleeful grin with the older woman.

"Stavlas… 5?" T'Riss asked uncertainly.

"You don't know it, girl?" Sehlra seemed surprised. "It's a small colony your people maintain at the edge of Vulcan space, not too far from Risa. The port is open to anyone who wants to stop there. Anyone at all…" She started gazing into distance the same way that Daniel was doing.

"How much could we get for an entire hold full of dark bitter chocolate?" Daniel wanted to know.

"Oh, by the Mother…" Sehlra almost whimpered. "I have no idea. There are entire colonies that could not afford a cargo like that. I have never seen a cargo that rich."

"Me neither," Daniel admitted. He almost stumbled over his own foot from not paying attention to where he was going. T'Riss hissed at him and he gave her a chagrined look. Then he immediately returned to daydreaming. "But I'm officially a citizen of Earth, so I can buy as much as I want. Legally, they can't place any limit on me as far as quantity. And once we sell it, we can turn and head for Andoria to stock up on ale. Last I heard, Andorian Ale was bringing 1578 credits a case on Earth."

"Fifteen hundred and…" Sehlra swallowed. "What are the taxes?"

Daniel figured rapidly. "Import fees are 3%. Income tax is a straight 10%. Then there's an excise tax and a few other forms of legal robbery. It all works out to about 19.4% altogether."

"And taxes are even less on Andoria," Sehlra said, "so we could easily clear over 1000 credits a case."

"Oh…shit…" Daniel breathed. "We can haul at least 2000 cases on each run…"

"By the Mother." Sehlra stopped and stared into infinity. "Then we load up on chocolate again and head back to Stav…"

"_Enterprise_ is just ahead," T'Riss pointed out. The other two came back to themselves with a start. The trio started walking again. An _Enterprise_ crewman was waiting at the airlock with a wheelchair for Daniel this time. He told Daniel, "Doctor Phlox should be ready to see you by the time we get there. He's prepping another patient for transfer."

"I'm not in any hurry," Daniel said, settling painfully into the chair. "I'm afraid of what he's going to tell me."

"I doubt it's that bad," the crewman told him, "not if you're still able to walk." He unlocked the brakes and backed the wheelchair up, spinning it with the skill of long practice.

"Girl," Sehlar told T'Riss, "I'll go with Daniel. I doubt that doctor needs both of us hanging over his shoulder while he's trying to work. You go talk to the Vulcans and see about getting the passenger's luggage transferred." She hesitated. "There's something else I didn't mention. It's not going to be a problem, because Jenrali and I aren't going to allow it to be a problem. But you and Daniel will need to know about it."

"What?" Daniel asked tiredly as he started his trip down the corridor.

Sehlra looked down at him with a concerned expression, then smiled indulgently. "It can wait. You get yourself repaired, boy. We'll finish the briefing later." She turned and followed the wheelchair as T'Riss stepped back through the airlock.

#

"Phlox to the bridge! We need…" Phlox stopped to leap for the arm that Sienae had just used to fling one of the two security guards across the room. The healer and melder Sorsen, who'd arrived to treat Captain Archer only to find himself in the midst of pandemonium, stood aside at Phlox's emphatic gesture. "We need additional security in sickbay!" Phlox shouted while wrestling with the still partially restrained Romulan. On the other side of the table, the remaining security guard had snatched an additional set of restraints off the adjacent bio-bed and was trying to jury-rig some way to reinforce her bonds.

"Kletas! Burosta m'rin le'nurtif karov!" The Romulan was screeching at the top of her lungs while lunging and snapping with her teeth. Phlox had no idea what she was saying, but he doubted that it was a polite request for a cup of water. He sincerely regretted the sympathetic impulse that had led him earlier into loosening her restraints when she started showing obvious signs of discomfort. Sorsen looked as distressed as Phlox had ever seen him look, which to be honest wasn't very much, but he obviously wanted to help.

"Stand clear, Healer Sorsen," called Phlox over one shoulder as he pinned a flailing arm against his chest, trying to shield his face from fingernails clawing at his eyes.

The prisoner worked her left knee loose and jammed it into Phlox's back, wrenching a gasp from him and knocking him forward, which gave her room to grab his collar and start choking him. The Human guard, fed up, landed a hammer fist straight into the pit of her belly. It shortened her breath long enough for Phlox to break loose, and the second guard stumbled back into the fray.

The entrance to sickbay whooshed open and Malcolm Reed led a pair of security officers with drawn phase pistols through the door. Instantly grasping the situation, he barked, "Mathews, Ling, pin her legs. Ortega and Ludd, take her arms. Just hold her until the doctor can give her something. And don't let her bite you."

With two more guards added to the mix, it didn't take long to pin the Romulan commander spread-eagled. Phlox frantically sorted through his cabinet to find a mild sedative that was safe for Vulcans and filled a hypo in record time. When the prisoner saw him approaching her with the hypo in his hand her expression, for the first time, turned from rage to fear. She tried to lunge backward, to no avail with four stout men holding her down. Then she threw back her head and screamed an earsplitting howl of abject terror. The humans in the room winced to a man. Phlox gritted his teeth, determined to get the job done. Out of the corner of one eye he saw Sorsen standing rigidly to one side of the confrontation with a pained expression on his face.

Phlox's poor bat, which was already on the verge of a nervous breakdown from all the commotion, started flapping desperately back and forth in its cage until it ran headfirst into a divider and dropped like a rock, out cold.

Phlox lunged like a fencer and applied the hypo to the prisoner's neck. Blessed silence fell. Gingerly the much abused guards let go and backed away, eyeing their quarry warily. "Now what?" one of them muttered.

"Now," Malcolm stated, "we move her to the brig. That is," glancing at Phlox, "if there is no medical reason not to?"

"None at all," Phlox sighed with relief. "Take her. Please. With my compliments. Since she's unconscious, you're welcome to use one of my gurneys."

Malcolm nodded briskly and they got busy. As they exited with the Romulan on the gurney in their midst, Phlox overheard Malcolm muttering to himself, "Something tells me that this is going to be one of the more interesting interrogations of my career." Phlox didn't envy the man his task. He could only hope that the security officer's interrogation methods wouldn't land the prisoner back in sickbay. If he never saw a Romulan again it would be too soon.

Phlox took a deep breath, closed his eyes briefly in non-specific supplication, and then turned to Sorsen, smiling wryly.

"So, now that we've gotten that task out of the way, let's check on the captain, shall we?"

Sorsen tipped his head in relieved agreement. "How did he pass the past eight hours?" he asked as they walked to the curtained cubicle where Jonathan Archer lay, still sedated.

"Unconscious. I made sure of it. I took no chances," replied Phlox. Sorsen raised a brow.

"Wasn't that extreme? When I warned you of his potential for suicide I expected simple observation. I would think that sickbay would be the safest place for him. How could he injure himself while under your care?"

"The captain is a very resourceful individual, and you left him without defenses, Healer. I've seen the result of stripping patients of their mental defenses with standard therapy. It isn't pretty. I can only imagine how much more intense his pain was after your telepathic treatment," explained Phlox. "As I said, I was taking no chances." It was difficult to keep the disapproval out of his voice. In his career he'd rarely seen the sort of agony that he'd witnessed on Jonathan Archer's face following Sorsen's so-called diagnostic meld.

Sorsen cleared his throat. They paused at the curtained cubicle and the Vulcan healer made sober eye contact with Phlox. "You of all people should understand the need to discover the extent of an injury prior to treating it, Doctor. Did you prefer that your captain remain unfit for duty until your usual methods could uncover the problem and treat it?"

The healer had a point, reflected Phlox. The diagnostic meld had laid the problem bare better than any therapist could hope to do even with years of intensive standard psychotherapy. He tipped his head. "No. Of course not. I understand the need to inflict necessary pain, Healer Sorsen. I am simply concerned. I doubt that I would ever be able to render the captain fit for command again in his current condition using the methods at my disposal. I sincerely hope that your techniques will be more successful."

"As do I, Doctor Phlox," agreed Sorsen, to Phlox's dismay. "As do I."

#

Selim reached out to press the door buzzer beside Raijiin's cabin door a second time. He straightened his shoulders and did his best to look like he was where he was supposed to be as a crewman approached. The man gave him a curious look anyway. Selim acknowledged the look with a cool nod. To his relief, the crewman passed him and continued down the corridor without saying anything. The event was worrisome, though. His sister had made it clear that Raijiin's quarters were off limits. He needed to get out of the hallway before too many people saw him, but Raijiin wasn't answering the door.

_Better that than if Senek had answered the door, _Selim thought. He was convinced now that if Senek found out he'd discovered the truth then something very bad was going to happen. He reached for the buzzer again with sweaty palms, his heart pounding, and then changed his mind. Maybe Raijiin was asleep—or possibly Senek was in his bedroom meditating and didn't want to be disturbed. Either way, the safest place for him was inside the cabin for now, and he needed to get inside as silently as possible. Entering without permission was impolite, he knew that, but the circumstances made it necessary. Fortunately, he'd accompanied Raijiin to her quarters several times since they'd come aboard _Sehlat_. The entry code sprang to mind when he closed his eyes and visualized the last time he'd stood in the doorway with Raijiin. He pressed it into the keypad by the door and it swished open obligingly. Selim heard voices down the corridor. Without a backward glance he slipped inside the darkened foyer and slapped the manual door control. The door swished closed again. Selim stood motionless in the silent room, holding his breath. A slow count to five calmed him. There was no one home.

Two open doors led out of the chamber through the wall facing the door he'd entered, one leading to a bathroom, the other to a small bedroom. In the center of the room was a table with four chairs surrounding it. A bunk was against the wall to his right. Against the wall to his left was a desk with an inactive computer console on top of it. Next to the desk was a small cabinet. The cabinet, he knew, contained the tea set and dishes that he and Llahir shared with Raijiin during their tea times, among other things. Beside the cabinet on the floor sat a large travel trunk. The lid was open. It looked to be full of multicolored silks.

_She's packing, _Selim realized with alarm. _Senek's going to force her to go on that ship with the crazy Andorian._

In the quiet the noise of footsteps just outside the door was loud enough to startle him. A frantic glance around the room revealed only one likely hiding place. He dove for the travel trunk and buried himself beneath layers of silk to the swish of the opening door. Through a veil of translucent fabric he saw Agent Senek escort Raijiin into her bedroom. Alarmingly, Raijiin's head was covered in a turban of gauze bandages from her earlobes to the crown of her head. She looked a little unsteady on her feet. A few seconds later Senek came out again. He paused at the door.

"Would you care for tea?" His voice was cool, but showed a concern Selim hadn't expected.

"No, thank you. I think I'll just sleep for a while. Wake me a quarter of an hour before our meeting with Llahir." Raijiin's speech was slurred a little. Senek just nodded and then closed the door behind him. He stood contemplating the closed door for several seconds before turning toward Selim's side of the room. The boy held his breath, but the grizzled agent just passed the trunk by without noticing him and took a seat at the desk. A muffled tapping ensued as Senek activated the computer console.

Selim remained motionless. He was good at it, having had lots of practice remaining unnoticed during his captivity on the Orion station, but soon boredom overtook him. In the silence, buried in soft silk, he slept.

#

Sorsen drew the curtain behind him and stepped to the bedside of his patient. Unconscious, the once self-assured carrier of Surak's katra looked more like a slumbering child, his face innocent and lax in sleep. He was secured in five point restraints. Doctor Phlox had indeed decided to take no chances. The Vulcan healer squared his shoulders and then reached down to lay three fingers lightly on Jonathan Archer's left temple.

Archer's eyes snapped open, at first bewildered and then filled with pain. Sorsen withdrew his hand, crossing both forearms to tuck his hands into the sleeves of his green healer's robe.

"I am Healer Sorsen, Captain. Do you remember me?" he asked. Archer's lips twisted bitterly.

"Too damn well," he rasped. His lips were cracked, his voice hoarse. Sorsen stepped to the bedside table, poured a glass of water, and offered it to the Human.

"You look thirsty. Would you like something to drink before we begin?" Archer eyed the glass as if it were filled with poison.

"Begin? Begin what? Haven't you already done enough?"

Sorsen exhaled heavily and placed the full glass back on the bedside table. "I see that I must review my treatment plan with you. When we last met I requested and you granted consent for a diagnostic meld. Do you remember that?"

"It wasn't as if I had a choice," Archer told him in a surly voice. He raised both hands to the limits of his restraining cuffs—about six inches from the surface of the bed. "Look at me. Do I look like someone who's here voluntarily?" Sorsen cocked his head at the Human. He did have a point. So he stepped back to Archer's bedside and removed his wrist, ankle and waist restraints, dropping the tangle of cuffs and straps to the floor. Archer sat up, rubbing his wrists. His eyes went to the bedside table. He immediately reached for the cup of water and drained it.

"I regret that you feel as if you had no choice, Captain," Sorsen told Archer. "I am obviously at fault in that I failed to make myself clear. You have always had the option to refuse treatment. You may leave now if you wish, but Doctor Phlox informs me that he is unable to offer you any treatment which will have you fit for duty any time soon. Now that I have discovered the cause of your difficulty, there is a strong possibility that I can prepare you to pass a Starfleet psychological examination within the week and thus retain command of _Enterprise_ despite your recent near-disastrous confrontation with an ally_. _I cannot do this without your cooperation and consent. Do you want me to proceed or not?" Archer poured himself a second glass of water with shaky hands and settled back to sip it, gazing at Sorsen with haunted eyes.

"Before yesterday I would have sworn that I was doing pretty well keeping it all together. That's obviously not the case judging from my reaction to the meld, but why do you think you can do something about it? Isn't all this just me having some kind of nervous breakdown?" he asked. The fear in the Human's voice was blatant, but he was rational. It was an impressive feat. At this stage of treatment, lacking all self-deception, a Vulcan was generally made non-verbal by terror and self-loathing. That this Human was capable of a reasoned exchange of ideas was a hopeful sign.

"Although the term 'nervous breakdown' is a non-scientific term, it is commonly used by Humans to mean a chemical imbalance within the brain which renders the victim emotionally and psychologically non-functional. It can occur spontaneously or as the result of an external trigger. In your case, the external trigger seems to be the presence of Surak's katra within your consciousness, most particularly the residual memories left by Surak's katra," explained Sorsen.

"So you'll have to erase my memory to cure me, like the Security Directorate does to its operatives that can't deal with having to kill?" asked Archer, sounding increasingly agitated. Sorsen paused at that in surprise. The man knew more than he should, but it was a useful comparison.

"Not entirely. A complete erasure would produce complete amnesia for the time period involved—not a reasonable solution. Instead, think of your emotional landscape as a canvas painted by your life experiences and memories. Surak's emotional responses to his life experiences have been applied over the true portrait, altering it and overwhelming your brain's adaptive ability. The Human brain simply cannot deal with the intensity of Vulcan emotions. What I propose to do is to attempt to remove these sensory memories, leaving the raw data intact. You will be left with information which feels as if it were acquired indirectly through observation rather than through direct experience. The objective distance will hopefully improve your ability to process the consequences of your decisions and learn from them, making it possible for you to remain in command while you and Doctor Phlox work on your issues with personal relationships."

Archer seemed mollified, almost cooperative. "What's the down side?" he asked.

"If I remove too much sensory memory you could be left with no emotional attachments at all. A Vulcan would not generally find this outcome distressing, but my research would suggest that this would render you insane by Human standards. I believe the Human term is 'sociopath'." Archer's eyes widened. He took a shaky breath. Sorsen continued.

"If too little sensory memory is removed you will continue to be prone to unprovoked emotional outbursts. Meditation and medication will only delay the inevitable. You will not pass the Starfleet psychological examination in that state either, but you would have a better chance of recovery…after several years of therapy, perhaps."

"Sounds like I might just want to take my chances the way I am," said Archer. Sorsen shook his head.

"If I do nothing, Doctor Phlox has told me that he seriously doubts standard therapy would ever be able to prevent you from experiencing frequent episodes of emotional instability. My goal with treatment will be, as you Humans say, to 'walk a fine line'. If you consent to treatment I will focus on sensory memories which I can definitely identify as related to decisions which you have made while under the influence of Surak's memories. If you wish, I can include pre-Surak traumatic sensory memories as well, but removing those may change your baseline personality." Archer chuckled bitterly.

"I guess I'll let you use your judgment, since no one but Porthos seems to like my 'baseline personality'." He tossed back the rest of his water, set the empty glass on the table, and lay back on the bed.

"Go for it, Healer Sorsen," said Archer from between clenched jaws. "Let's get this over with."

#

A brisk tap on her bedroom door woke Raijiin from sleep. She blinked, her thoughts still drug-fogged, her bones aching deep within their marrow as they adjusted to the gene therapy induced transition from hemocyte to cupricyte production. There was another tap, a bit louder this time.

"I am awake," she called. Then she rolled wearily out of her bunk and checked the chronometer. It had only been two hours, not remotely long enough. Her ears and forehead throbbed. The local anesthetic had worn off already, but drugs that would dull the pain would also dull her telepathic sensitivity, and the upcoming ill-timed meeting with Llahir was going to tax her abilities even without them. The man's thoughts were unassailable without skin to skin contact, he was so telepathically insensitive, and one simply did not touch a Vulcan in the course of casual social interactions. Nevertheless, Senek had assigned her the unenviable task of ascertaining Llahir's state of mind.

While she was still at Natolya's, or even back during her time as a slave of the Reptilian Xindi, Raijiin would have taken the direct route to knowledge and aggressively pursued physical contact with Llahir. He might be Vulcan, but he was still a man, and no doubt a lonely one at that. But now that she was an agent of the Security Directorate her options were more limited. Senek had forbidden her the use of more physical means of persuasion without his permission. Privately she'd found his scruples nonsensical at first. Why not use her talents to the fullest? Somewhat reluctantly she had eventually come to understand the need for restraint. Now that she was at least superficially more Vulcan than not, she would need to learn to behave as a Vulcan would behave or risk breaking their cover once they'd reached their destination.

_Be honest with yourself. You want the man. Senek's rules are… frustrating._

Raijiin had to admit that the idea of seducing Llahir had a great deal of appeal, and not only for professional reasons. They had much in common, she and the pseudo-Romulan, and he was the type of man to whom she'd always been attracted—one with a tough exterior who possessed unexpected inner gentleness. His interactions with Selim had told her that much. Although under Vulcan military law the deep undercover agent would be free to leave the service of the Security Directorate after being debriefed, her new superiors quite understandably didn't like that idea very much. They would much prefer that he be recruited once again to the cause. If she was going to have to do that by appealing to him on a personal level, at least it was what she wanted as well.

Raijiin approached the full length mirror on the door of her closet, a necessary addition she'd made in her first week on board. The impact she made on others was made first by the way she looked. Assessing her appearance before she left her room each morning helped her to feel more in control of her situation. Her current assessment: she looked like an unmade bed. Sliding open her closet, she reached in, retrieved and changed into a fresh, un-rumpled uniform, then eyed the gauze turban wrapped around her head. Steeling herself, she began unwrapping.

Three layers later a stranger looked back at her in the mirror, one with elegantly upswept brows and finely pointed ears. The result was surprisingly attractive, especially so soon after surgery. The surgical sites were a bit swollen, but her incisions were virtually invisible thanks to Tyvek's use of tissue adhesive rather than sutures to close the skin. The Vulcan physician had warned her to keep them covered for a couple of days to prevent infection, but the potential impact of her transformation on Llahir was worth the risk. She applied a bit of makeup to cover the post-op bruising rapidly developing on her temples, arranged her hair so that just the tips of her remodeled ears peeked tantalizingly from the curls, glossed her lips, and settled her features and her mind into Vulcan serenity. There was another tap on the door.

"Raijiin?" called Senek. "He is here."

#

"Ah, Mr. Johansen. Welcome back," Phlox greeted him cheerfully as Daniel and his convoy made their entrance to _Enterprise's _sickbay.

"Hi, Doc," Daniel replied glumly. "Great to be home again. Love what you've done with the place." Phlox chuckled and walked over.

"So tell me, young man. What brings you back so soon? The luxurious accommodations? Chef's cooking? Did you miss my animals?" Phlox and the crewman, assisted by Sehlra, lifted Daniel to a biobed and Phlox started scanning and probing.

Daniel tried to smile. "Actually that little lizard guy over there is kinda cute if he would just quit baring his fangs at me. But the truth is I, uh, fell and hurt my back again." Sehlra gave him a look but kept her mouth shut for once.

"I see," the doctor murmured. "Hm… Oh dear. You _have_ hurt yourself, haven't you. Tsk." Phlox shook his head and touched Daniel's back with feather light fingers. "I won't try to bore you with the technical description, but what's happened is that you have cracked one of the small appendages that stick up on the back of your spinal column. I would imagine that the pain is rather intense."

"You could put it that way," Daniel admitted. "Can you fix it?" he asked hopefully. "I mean quick, so I can leave right away?"

"I can certainly apply the repair easily enough," Phlox told him. The Denobulan turned away for some instruments and a hypo. "But it will take another day or two for the sealer to completely finish bonding the bone back together."

"Great," Daniel sighed and rolled his eyes.

"That will teach you the virtue of patience, boy," Sehlra scolded him. "Next time, don't be so eager."

Daniel gaped at the injustice. "Look who's talking! Who was it that practically threw us into a sack together and tied it off? You…" Suddenly realizing where they were, he glanced at Phlox's interested expression and closed his mouth.

Sehlra chuckled. "I didn't tell you to start doing handstands on the bunk with her, boy." Daniel locked his teeth together. Sehlra eyed him critically. "While you're here, maybe he can give you some advice on how to keep from hurting yourself again." Daniel's eyes widened and he started to struggle up onto his elbows. Ignoring him, Sehlra turned to Phlox and bluntly asked, "Doctor, after working with Humans this long, no doubt you know all about their mating techniques. Any suggestions on how Daniel and that T'Riss girl can get things done without breaking him again?"

"Oh." Phlox blinked several times. Daniel sank back and closed his eyes, silently begging for death. "Is that how the injury occurred?"

Sehlra told him, "Yes. Daniel said they got too frisky and forgot about how strong she was."

"Well," Phlox told them, warming up to the subject as he continued gathering his tools and hypos. "There is no doubt that Vulcans are quite strong. If I had known that the two of you had progressed in your relationship to the point of actual mating, I would have offered to sit down with you and provide some counseling on these matters. I still suggest that it would be a good idea." He started to gently roll Daniel over onto his side.

"Uh," Daniel groped for a reply.

"In fact, if you can possibly endure it, I strongly recommend that you refrain from sexual intercourse entirely for the next three days. Of course, there are alternative methods of providing physical relief if the pressure of seminal fluid becomes intolerable, for example…"

"I know about those, Doc," Daniel interrupted him frantically. "It's ok. I can stand it for a few days." He paused while something sank in. "Wait a minute. You knew about us?"

"Yes. Crewman T'Riss asked for my advice when you were here last time," Phlox told him, adjusting an instrument slightly before applying it to Daniel's back. He watched the readout. "Hmmm," he said unhelpfully.

"Smart girl," Sehlra approved. "Better to get this sort of thing out of the way up front."

"Oh my yes, definitely," Phlox agreed, reaching for a hypo. "This will numb the area, and it should relieve the pain. It will also make it temporarily impossible for you to walk. But the effect is completely temporary, I assure you." The hypo spray hissed and blessed relief began to flow down Daniel's spine.

"Oh yeah. That's great." Daniel slumped in relief. "That. Really. Helps."

"Excellent," Phlox sounded pleased. "Now. To return to your question about mating techniques." Daniel winced. "While it is true that Vulcans are stronger than Humans, it would ordinarily not be a problem in your case. The average Human male is almost as strong, or in some cases even slightly stronger, than the average Vulcan female. If it were a case of you being female and T'Riss being male, you would have a greater challenge on your hands, because she would have to take extraordinary precautions to avoid damaging you. But in your case…"

"But I heard that Vulcans are three times as strong as Humans," Sehlra objected.

"Not… strictly," Phlox told her. "That's actually something of a myth, what Humans refer to as an 'old wive's tale'. It's based on something that occurred during First Contact between the two races. At that time, Human physicians of the dominant planetary subculture had a standard for determining normal strength. They decided that a Human male, to qualify as having normal strength, should be able to pick up a mass equal to his own weight from the floor and raise it over his head.

"They asked the Vulcan crew members to pick up various weights so that they could evaluate their strength, and noted that the Vulcan officers were capable of lifting three times their own mass against Earth gravity. From that, the myth was born. I am certain you can see the flaws in the testing methodology instantly, the most immediate of which is the fact that the Vulcans had spent their lives under Vulcan gravity."

"Their own weight. Is that all?" Sehlra looked taken aback. She glanced protectively down at Daniel and smoothed his hair. "I didn't realize that they were so frail."

"Well, they aren't really," Phlox explained. "The standard was meant to apply to city dwelling civilians. Generally speaking, these were people who spent their lives pushing buttons and drinking beverages. Quite frankly, very few Humans ever bother to put in the time and effort necessary to develop their full potential strength." He looked her. "Some Humans, however, compete with each other in contests of strength. I believe that the official record to date is a Human male who lifted 567 kilograms."

"Ouch." Daniel said. They both immediately turned to him.

"Are you still in pain, Mr. Johansen?" Phlox asked him worriedly.

"Not from my back," Daniel assured him. "The pain is from the thought of lifting 567 kilograms."

Phlox chuckled. "I quite understand. It's not something that I would care to attempt myself. In any case, your difficulty with Crewman T'Riss is going to be compounded for some time because of your extended period under reduced gravity."

Daniel caught Sehlra twisting her antennae in guilt and told her firmly, "Stop that. We all agreed that it was the right thing to do. It was either that or take a loan from the Orions, and we all know where that would have ended up. I may be youthful and winsome, but I really don't think slave silks would look good on me."

"There has been no permanent damage that I can detect," Phlox hastened to interject. "You simply need to exercise and make sure to include plenty of protein and calcium in your diet for a while." He picked up an instrument. "Meanwhile, let's get this fracture sealed. Afterward, I think I may be able to provide you with some useful assistance with your questions." He applied the laser scalpel and the scent of burning flesh and hair filled the air. Daniel held his breath. Past Sehlra he caught sight of Commander Tucker entering sickbay.

"Hey, Doc! Any news?" called the engineer.

"I'll be right with you, Commander," replied Phlox, sounding preoccupied. Daniel couldn't feel anything below his lower chest, but the scraping sounds were a little unnerving. Sehlra's face blanched to a paler blue.

"Umm…Sehlra? Can you go to the mess and get me some plomeek broth?" Daniel asked her quickly. She smiled queasily in gratitude and released his hand.

"I'll go do that then, shall I?" she announced to the room in general. "I'll be back in a few minutes," she called over her shoulder. Daniel watched her brush by Tucker with a hasty nod. _Enterprise's _engineer looked after her with a puzzled expression. He walked up to Daniel's bedside.

"Sehlra's in a hurry today. Where's the fire?" he asked Daniel.

"I think the smell was getting to her," Daniel replied. "Either that or the noises." Tucker's eyes widened a bit as he looked over Daniel's shoulder at what Phlox was doing. Daniel didn't ask.

"There. All done," announced Phlox a moment later. The rustle of bandages followed. Daniel closed his eyes and sighed. The numbness was sheer bliss. He hadn't been pain free in a long time.

"Just take a nap now, Mr. Johansen. When the anesthetic begins to wear off, you let me know."

"Sure thing, Doc," replied Daniel sleepily.

"He okay?" Daniel heard Trip Tucker ask Phlox softly.

"He'll be fine," replied Phlox in a cheerfully quiet voice. "You should talk to him when he wakes, though. He needs some safety advice so he doesn't fracture anything else while indulging in off-duty recreation."

"Safety? From what?" questioned Tucker.

"T'Riss," answered Phlox succinctly.

"Really?" whispered Tucker, sounding unaccountably delighted. Daniel felt his face grow warm.

_Don't mind me. I'm asleep. _

"T'Pol told me she'd had a talk with the girl, but I wasn't sure anything would come of it. She wasn't very encouraging, apparently," murmured Tucker.

"Caution is the logical approach to such a situation," Phlox told him.

"Caution never got me anywhere. I say he should go for it if that's what he wants," said Tucker. Phlox chuckled, a quiet belly laugh.

"Well, you'd be the best person to teach him how to do that without killing himself, Commander."

Daniel recalled T'Riss' unbelievable claim just that morning that the _Enterprise's _ebullient and enthusiastic chief engineer was bonded to her ice-cold first officer. He really hadn't believed it until now..

"How's the captain? T'Pol sent me to check," said Tucker, sounding as if he were walking away.

"Healer Sorsen left about an hour ago. The captain seems well enough, but fatigued," answered Phlox's voice, growing gradually more distant. "I'm preparing a preliminary evaluation report. I'll have something for Commander T'Pol's review by 1800 hours…"

Their voices faded to a murmur. Daniel wasn't even curious about their last topic of conversation. It felt too good to finally be pain free for him to bother to think that hard. He slept.

#

"Raijin? He is here."

A muffled acknowledgment followed Senek's announcement through Raijiin's bedroom door, but, as was generally typical for a woman, it seemed that Raijiin was not yet ready. Llahir took a seat at the familiar table in the center of the room and waited as Senek stepped away from the bedroom door and went to the sideboard to pour three cups of Earl Grey. The addition of Earth-grown tea to the planning meetings the three of them had been having since they'd received orders to divert to Risa had been Raijiin's idea, he was sure—an attempt to put him at ease after his positive response to their little tea parties with Selim. The woman was enticing, but a little transparent at times. It amused Llahir to see her work so hard to gain his favor. Now she even had Senek doing it.

"Sugar?" Senek offered. The Vulcan took his unsweetened, of course. His tone of voice implied that any right-thinking Vulcan would do the same. His eyes met Llahir's without expression, the spoon in his right hand poised above a bowl filled with genuine Earth-made refined cane sugar.

"Yes, please. Two spoonfuls. And creamer," Llahir replied. His chin came up. _Accept it.. I am no longer what you would consider purely Vulcan, neither in my preferences nor in my behavior. _

Senek's right brow went up a trifle as he spooned both sugar and non-dairy creamer into the steaming cup. Llahir preferred the taste of real milk, but he had found it to be unfortunately indigestible.

The sound of a door swooshing open drew Llahir's attention away from Senek and tea. For a second Llahir thought a stranger was entering the room from Raijiin's bedroom. Then he recognized her. The changes were minor. His instinctive response wasn't. Heat rushed to his groin and memories of his last Pon Farr with Sienae rushed into his head. He stifled them. This girl was nothing like Sienae in personality, which was one of the main reasons he found her so attractive. Her transformation made her look more Romulan than Vulcan. Vulcan women rarely wore their hair down in loose curls. But Raijiin's manner was accommodating rather than domineering, a refreshing change.

"Shall we begin, gentlemen?" Raijiin's request was made with cool authority and without her usual placating smile. Senek joined them at the table and handed out cups of tea. Raijiin took hers with a small nod of acknowledgment and sipped its contents unsweetened without seeming to notice the lack. Llahir studied her face, puzzled. Had the doctor done something to her that was more than cosmetic? His eyes cut to Senek. Had Senek done something to her?

_Maybe the boy is right. Maybe he's got her under some sort of mental compulsion._

"Our passage on the _Lerteiran _has been arranged," she told Llahir. "We'll be boarding in less than an hour, so you need to collect your personal effects. Our luggage has already been transported to the exit airlock. I have taken the liberty of packing several unmarked ship's coveralls in the correct size for your use."

Llahir raised a brow at her, amused by her thoroughness. "I am… grateful. I am, however, perfectly capable of providing my own clothing."

Raijiin's lips quirked suspiciously but she didn't actually smile. "Yes. I am aware of that," she told him, "but time is of the essence. The quartermaster has informed me that you have not requisitioned sufficient clothing for a trip of this duration. You may purchase more suitable attire on Risa if you like, but I assumed that you would prefer to be dressed for the next three weeks rather than nude, however entertaining the prospect might be for the rest of us."

"A reasonable assumption," Llahir acknowledged in a dry voice. _No, she's not completely Vulcan yet. _"It's very short notice. "

"Commander T'Lar is aware of our departure," Raijiin replied.

_But not too pleased with it, I'd wager,_ thought Llahir.

"Bring a keyboard-equipped device for your debriefing reports," Senek put in. "We will be sharing quarters with individuals who are not authorized to overhear classified information." He paused. "And you may wish to visit sickbay before we leave."

"Why would I need to visit sickbay?" asked Llahir, nonplussed.

Senek cleared his throat, glanced at Raijiin, who was regarding them both with a puzzled expression, and then said simply, "Skin contact allows me access to your thoughts."

Llahir blinked. Senek had handed him a teacup just as Raijiin was entering the room. The finger contact had been casual and fleeting. He'd thought nothing of it. "Ah," he replied with some discomfort. He cleared his throat in an unconscious echo of the older man. "There is no cause for concern," he reassured Senek. "I was…taken by surprise."

"Control will be essential in such close quarters," Senek persisted. "If you are potentially compromised you should seek suppressive treatment." Llahir gritted his teeth. The man thought he was entering Pon Farr.

"I assure you that there is no cause for concern," repeated Llahir flatly. His time was years away, but addressing the subject directly in Raijiin's presence was, of course, completely out of the question. Senek's lack of confidence in his capacity for civilized behavior was beginning to grate on his nerves. His eyes met Raijiin's. Her expression was sympathetic, amused, and obviously intrigued.

_Interesting. She's more like a Romulan every moment. _He couldn't decide whether that was a good thing or not.

#

T'Riss had no difficulty arranging for the transfer of luggage and incidental belongings for their new Vulcan passengers. The _Sehlat's_ quartermaster, with typical Vulcan efficiency, already had the transfer paperwork completed. All that remained after T'Riss reviewed and approved the itemized list was the actual physical transport.

With plenty of time left on her hands, T'Riss debated returning to _Enterprise_. Logic informed her that Sehlra had been correct, that there was nothing constructive she could contribute there, but she had been specifically ordered by Jenrali to accompany Daniel to the station, and she doubted that the old man would appreciate it if she returned without him-or without at least an up-to-date report on his condition.

T'Riss finally admitted to herself that she was searching for an excuse to avoid visiting the healer on her own behalf. This was neither logical nor acceptable. She took a deep breath and recited the Disciplines to herself. Then she headed to _Sehlat's_ sickbay to see Healer Tyvek.

The unadorned grey corridors of the Vulcan vessel, once so familiar to her, now seemed overly spacious and bland, lacking in character compared to the cramped, haphazard and much repaired companionways of the _Lerteiran. _As T'Riss walked briskly to her destination she couldn't help but wonder what was going to happen to her once she'd served her disciplinary assignment. She was hardly officer material anymore by any space force's standards. Her initial tour would be up in less than a year. She'd always thought she'd make a career of the Vulcan military, but now things were different—confusing.

Entering sickbay, she found a dozen individuals representing practically every species in the sector lined up before a curtained cubicle in the rear. Tyvek stepped forward with an unusually sour expression on his face.

"May I assist you, Crewman?" T'Riss blinked, taken aback by the crowd.

"I came for a consultation before the _Lertieran's_ departure to Risa, but perhaps I should return later."

A green-robed female healer stepped out from behind the curtain. She was escorting an Orion woman with a chubby green infant in her arms. The woman smiled gratefully and then began walking toward the exit. "Next," announced the healer, and a male Tellarite stepped forward.

"It will not be necessary for you to leave. I am available," said Tyvek to T'Riss. "Two members of the medical staff of the _Kau T'Surak _are here to assist me with clearing the refugees for re-entry onto the station."

It was then that T'Riss noted the second cubicle. An emotionally traumatized looking Betazoid female exited. She was closely followed by a healer. He was Sorsen, the melder who'd forced T'Riss out of her self-imposed healing trance after the death of Grigor-Tel, the one who'd offered only recently to provide couple's counseling to her and to Daniel. She was grateful to the man but the sight of his face brought back unpleasant memories. Sorsen handed the girl over to a young Vulcan female in the white robe and green sash of a healer-in-training who took the Betazoid by the arm and led her, unprotesting and staring at her toes, toward the exit and presumably to the hospital ship for further treatment.

"Next," called the melder. The refugee at the head of the line, a huge and muscular Orion male, stepped forward and joined the slender Vulcan behind the curtain. If the melder was concerned for his personal safety he gave no sign of it.

"Come this way," said Tyvek. He led T'Riss toward a third makeshift examination area and drew the curtain behind them. "Is there a problem?" he asked in a tired voice.

T'Riss eyed his face, looking for something she could trust. _Associating with Humans and Andorians must be changing my perceptions, _she thought. Despite their common origins she felt absolutely no inclination to confide in the man. And yet, he was a healer and presumably could be trusted.

"I am concerned that my medication may no longer be effective," T'Riss said finally. "I am having difficulties with emotional control in relation to…" She paused, "…certain stimuli." Tyvek raised a brow. He pulled the portable scanner from his belt and passed it slowly over her head several times before inspecting the display.

"Your neurotransmitter levels are within normal limits, Crewman. I see nothing that a change in medication would remedy," he told her. "Post-traumatic stress therapy with a skilled melder would be the next logical step."

T'Riss took a shaky breath. Her last encounter with melding had been a horrific invasion, but necessary to pull her from her comatose state. Although she understood on an intellectual level that such painfully drastic measures were no longer needed, her instincts were telling her to run—as quickly and as far away as possible.

"Sorsen is available," continued Tyvek. "I would suggest that you take advantage of the opportunity before your departure."

The prospect was both attractive and terrifying. Traditional Vulcan post-traumatic stress therapy usually involved the total suppression of the involved memories. As painful as those memories were, they were part of her now. Who would she be if they were gone? Would Daniel even be attracted to that person? The prospect of his indifference distressed her in a way she had not expected. The melder might consider intimate interactions with a Human to be aberrant and recommend suppressing all memory of them as well. Would she even care afterwards?

On the other hand, Sorsen had seemed perfectly comfortable with the idea of counseling Daniel and T'Riss when they'd last met, almost as if the two of them were a bonded Vulcan couple. It made her wonder whether it might be possible for Sorsen to heal her without suppressing her memories. With a sense of urgency T'Riss made as if to get down from the table, intending to join the line of refugees waiting in line to see the melder, but Tyvek stopped her with a strangely concerned expression on his face. His reaction shamed her. Her distress was too evident.

"Wait here," he said, and left her alone without explanation. To her surprise, Sorsen stepped into the cubicle only seconds later.

"Healer Tyvek informs me that you have an urgent need for my services," he said in a matter-of-fact voice. T'Riss felt her face flush. She found herself unable to meet the healer's eyes.

"It is not as urgent a matter as Healer Tyvek believes," she told him, looking down at her hands gripped together in her lap, white-knuckled. "I don't want to take you away from your patients."

"Tyvek has taken my station with the refugees. You are my concern at present," replied Sorsen. "You and I both know that your current condition is not a safe one…neither for you nor for Daniel Johansen." T'Riss looked up at the healer in surprise. There was no censure in Sorsen's tone, but she had said nothing about Daniel to Tyvek. How did this healer know of her difficulty? "Embarking on a voyage aboard a ship the size of _Lerteiran _without first addressing this problem would be very unwise. I do not believe that you would intentionally endanger the Human, but the risk of unintentional harm exists, and you will not be able to avoid interacting with him in such close quarters." At T'Riss' puzzled look, he explained in a patient voice, "Your interest in the Human would be obvious to anyone with even rudimentary empathic ability who sees the two of you together. Why do you think I offered to see both of you when we last met in sickbay on _Enterprise_? A resolution must be found to this situation. You are conflicted. Your judgment is impaired."

"And how would you 'resolve this situation', Healer? By suppressing all memory of it?" asked T'Riss bleakly. "I don't want that." Sorsen raised a surprised brow.

"You would preserve these memories even though the suppression of them may allow you to live a conventional life on Vulcan and eventually take a Vulcan mate?" T'Riss blinked at that. She'd never even considered the possibility.

"You can do that? Heal me completely? Put me back the way I was?" she asked. The prospect was overwhelming. She'd given up on the idea of ever regaining what she'd lost.

"Not entirely," Sorsen admitted. "You will have a gap in memory. It will be obvious to others close to you. The basic facts about your time on _The Plains of Gol_ and in Orion space will of necessity have to be retained, but you will no longer experience it as if you lived it. It will be a story told second-hand, and thus theoretically less distressing psychologically."

"How much memory would you have to suppress?" The idea of erasing the shame and degradation of her time with Grigor-Tel was very tempting. She had no desire to remember the horror of having his perverted thoughts and emotions in her head. And if that were not enough, she would also be forced to remember her own sick pleasure at his hideously painful death for the rest of her life unless she agreed to the treatment. It was that more than anything that frightened her. Had she always been capable of relishing another sentient being's agony, or had his abuse done something irreparable to her?

"The traditional approach would havee suppress memories from the onset of the traumatic event until the day of treatment," replied Sorsen. "The difficulties you have experienced with control would be a non-issue then, for you would no longer remember them. I could supply you with an outline of events which would enable you to function in your current position as crew of _Lerteiran, _and in time you would become re-acquainted with your crewmates. Freed of traumatic memories, you would be able to complete your time on _Lerteiran _and then return to Vulcan to live a useful life."

"Everything? You would suppress everything?" T'Riss replied, dismayed. She'd lose it all - her first sight of Daniel in Grigor-Tel's quarters, so innocent looking and terrified yet obviously concerned for her welfare; his earnest attempts to communicate; his unreasonable attachment to that bitter beverage made from ground beans; the feel of his smooth muscular back beneath her hands... and his tongue. She would lose that, too.

"I must not only suppress the memories of the traumatic experiences but also your subsequent recollections of them. To do anything else would be ineffective," explained Sorsen. "If you were able to process trauma in the Human manner I would have other options." He brightened, warming to his subject. "In fact, I have recently had some success doing just that with a profoundly affected Human victim of post-traumatic stress. It was quite fascinating to see how differently Humans…"

"Could you do that for me? Use this 'other option'?" T'Riss interrupted. Sorsen paused. He considered her question for several seconds.

"I'm not certain," he admitted, "To my knowledge the method has never been attempted on a Vulcan. In effect, it requires de-sensitizing the emotional impact of the trauma while leaving the data intact. Vulcan emotions are significantly more powerful than Human emotions, and are also more tightly integrated into our thought processes." He thought hard for several moments. "I would have to do a diagnostic meld first to discover the extent of the damage. It... might... be possible..."

T'Riss swallowed. The prospect of a meld — of knowing the worst — terrified her, but the prospect of staying the way she was terrified her even more.

"Very well." She steeled herself. Sorsen nodded in acknowledgment of her consent and reached out a hand. "But don't suppress anything…" As the words left her mouth Sorsen's fingertips touched her temple. She felt his presence in her mind and heard the murmur of the traditional words of melding without comprehending them. Her heart pounded and her breath grew short. It was all she could do to remain still.

_Be at ease. I will not harm you, _said Sorsen's calming voice in her head. _This is only an assessment._

T'Riss clenched her jaws as Sorsen accessed memory after degrading memory. She closed her eyes and began repeating the Disciplines as a distraction to combat her self-loathing. It was the only thing she'd found which helped. In the weeks since her rescue she'd become proficient at not thinking about how degenerate she'd allowed herself to become. The memories leaked through in pieces, triggering a familiar refrain.

_I should be dead. If I had any honor at all I'd be dead like the others. _

The ones like her betrothed who had fought their captors and died were the fortunate ones. They didn't have to live with the realization that they were, in fact, nothing but animals. Civilization itself was a myth. Honor was a fantasy. It all came down to survival. And she had survived.

_Yes. And this is an achievement, not a fault. You are strong. You are intelligent. You are of use to society. What purpose would your death have served? _Sorsen's challenge broke into her litany, breaking her concentration, and the next set of memories hit her with full force.

…_She was smothering, her face buried in the bedclothes. The Orion's greasy flesh pressed against her, to all sides of her at once. She was buried in it, shoved deep into the mattress with each grunting stroke. Her body burned, craving physical stimulation even as her gorge rose and emerald blood ran from the wounds her violator had inflicted... _

It had been a Pon Farr inducing microbe, she knew that now. But the first few times, she had only known that her body was betraying her.

_You had no choice, _Sorsen's voice told her. _It is most illogical for you to continue to believe that you were in any way responsible for what happened. Now show me the memories you want to keep._

She shivered. Illogical. The temperature was maintained at Vulcan optimum.

_...She shivered, watching Grigor-Tel's fat fingers caress the ampoule. A young Human male watched them both, looking uncomfortable. His scent was heavy with pheromones and fear..._

_...Daniel sat across the table from her, sipping coffee and smiling at her..._

_...She looked down at Daniel's unconscious body on the bunk. Raijiin told her, "We have gone too far to back out now,"..._

_...She listened in disbelief as Daniel sat across the table and firmly announced that he was dropping all charges against her... _

_...She saw the pain on his face when he tried to move and knew that she was the cause. Fear..._

_...Rubbing the ointment into Daniel's muscles. Feeling the cool Human skin slide beneath her palms. Smelling his scent..._

_...Sleeping beside Daniel. Warmth. Comfort. Security..._

_...His tongue raked up the side of her neck. Every nerve in her body was burning... _

_...She reached down past his belly, taking him in her hands. Stroking him..._

Sorsen abruptly broke the meld and stepped back. He eyed her carefully. "You did not tell me that you had engaged in sexual relations with Daniel Johansen. This is a very significant development."

"We- we have not." She swallowed. "I offered..." T'Riss stopped and closed her eyes tightly in shame. Yes, she had offered herself like an item of barter. Like the whore that she had been trained to become.

Sorsen placed a gentle finger on her shoulder. "Crewman T'Riss. Listen to me carefully. You have made intimate physical contact with Daniel Johansen repeatedly. The fact that you have not yet engaged in full coupling is irrelevant."

"I don't understand. I... on the station we..." T'Riss took a deep breath and steadied herself, still repeating the Disciplines in a silent mantra. "I am uncertain as to your meaning, Healer Sorsen."

Sorsen inclined his head. "The connection is impossible to mistake. A betrothal bond has formed."

T'Riss felt her blood freeze. _"NO!"_ Blind terror threw her off the exam table and toward the curtain. Sorsen deftly intercepted her and grasped her at the junction of neck and shoulder. Instead of a standard nerve pinch he applied pressure in a more delicate and complex maneuver. Her knees buckled as she lost all control over her voluntary muscles while still retaining consciousness. Sorsen carefully picked her up and stretched her out on the examination table.

"Crewman T'Riss," Sorsen put his hands back on the contact points of her face. "You must cast out fear. Nothing can be done until you have first cast out fear."

"I cannot," she whispered. "I had no right. I did not realize... NO!"

"Focus on the Disciplines," Sorsen ordered her. "Breathe. Focus. Center yourself. Cast out fear."

T'Riss fought for control. "What have I done? I have committed against Daniel the same crime that was committed against me. I must die. He must be freed." Black despair smothered her.

"Illogical," Sorsen snapped. "A betrothal bond can be severed easily and without permanent aftereffects. If Daniel even wishes to sever it. Did he not agree to consider you as a mate freely? Did he not even this very morning tell you that he is still willing to consider you as a mate? You did not force this upon him."

"He had no way of knowing it would form," T'Riss said. Her voice sank into a rasping whisper. "How could this have happened? We did not mate. What caused this?" Involuntary quivers passed over her body. Sorsen carefully began to apply pressure at neural nodes along her neck and ribs. The shaking subsided as feeling returned to her extremities.

"You may not have engaged in actual coupling," Sorsen explained. "but your hands were in frequent and extended contact with the nerve clusters in his back in a manner quite similar to neuropressure. And unless I misunderstood your memories, you even permitted him to run his tongue, one of the most sensitive and nerve-rich portions of the Human body, directly over the telepathic contact points on your face. It is not surprising in the least that intermittent telepathic contact has occurred."

"But Daniel is not telepathic!" Incipient panic began to grow in her voice. Sorsen reached for the contact points on her cheek and forehead. Once again he murmured the soft words that signified the beginning of a meld.

_Cast out fear, T'Riss. This is not catastrophic. A betrothal bond is reversible if you both wish it._

She closed her eyes and felt tears begin.

_...I__ did this to him. Without his permission. Without his knowledge. __I__ am no better than Grigor-Tel._..

_[Your words are without logic, T'Riss. You did not force him. Daniel entered the relationship freely. He knows our people. He knows of bonding. He understood that a bond might form.]_

_...Not without mating! He had no way of knowing this!... _

_[Nor did you. But you know now. Now you must tell him, and the two of you must decide on a logical course of action. But permit him the dignity of making his own choice. Do you still desire him?] _

_...He will never have me now, after I have injured him, and now this. He will never accept me. He should kill me. If not him, then his Andorian shipmates will... _

_[Again, T'Riss, you speak without logic. You must meditate and consider this matter carefully. Decide whether you still desire Daniel for a mate.] _

_...Of course I desire him. No Vulcan would have me now. Daniel is a superior option... _

_[Is that the only reason you desire Daniel? Because you believe that no Vulcan would have you? If you could find a Vulcan mate would you abandon him?] _

_...I... no... I mean... that is not what I meant... I..._

_[Consider this matter carefully, T'Riss. If you choose Daniel only because you believe that you cannot do better, then you are dishonoring yourself as well as him. Ultimately, he will come to understand this. You will not be able to keep it from him forever. You will feel his pain through the bond when he realizes this as if it were your own.] _

_...I..._

_[T'Riss?]_

_...Daniel is superior in many ways. He is intelligent. He has experience with many races. He is a skilled pilot and navigator, and possesses many other useful abilities. His appearance is aesthetically agreeable. He is young and in good health... _

_[But he is not Vulcan.] _

_...It should make no difference. I have confirmed that our DNA is compatible. Daniel is an honorable man of good prospects. With the reward money and the payment for their new contract, the members of the Lerteiran partnership will be in a position to enrich themselves significantly. In addition, Daniel holds foster family contacts at the upper mid-level of Vulcan society. He also holds useful connections with Earth's merchant fleet, and potentially useful connections with Andoria. He has much to offer any woman... _

_[But it does make a difference, does it not?] _

_...I..._

_[Deceit is illogical, T'Riss. Self-deceit is the most illogical of all.]_

_...It does not matter... _

_[It will matter to Daniel. If it matters to your mate, it must matter to you. Else your bond will remain in constant turmoil and your joining will never know peace.] _

_...My family will never accept him. It is probable that they will not accept even me now. But they will surely never accept a Human... _

_[There is no logical reason for them to refuse either of you.] _

_...I have already shamed my family by my behavior. I failed to die honorably in resisting the Orions. I submitted, and allowed them to enslave me. For this I will never be forgiven. But they would have no publicly justifiable reason to disown me for this alone. However, now that I have committed offenses that have cost me my commission, they will logically be able to claim that I am unfit, and cast me out. Even if they chose not to do this because of my crime, if I bring home a Human mate there will be no hesitation in the matter. Shameful submission followed by vengeful murder they might forgive. Choosing a Human they will not forgive... _

#

Sorsen withdrew from the meld and folded his hands. He stood watching while T'Riss opened her eyes and slowly sat up. She would not meet his gaze. "Crewman T'Riss." Sorsen's voice was as gentle as it was possible for a Vulcan's to logically become. "You have decisions to make. But I cannot undertake the therapy I spoke of while you are still linked to Daniel Johansen by a betrothal bond. Any work I performed on your mind would inevitably have an effect on his. You must decide. Do you wish to have the betrothal bond dissolved?"

"Can you do this? Here? Now?" Her eyes were hollow and her voice flat.

"Yes, I can," Sorsen told her. "Daniel is not even aware of it. He should suffer no ill effects of any kind."

T''Riss sat silently for several moments.

Sorsen added. "Afterward, I can undertake the therapy which might allow you to eventually find a Vulcan mate."

"Can you tell me," T'Riss stopped and swallowed. "Can you tell me how this could have happened? Humans are not naturally telepathic. Are they? How could a bond have formed without my being aware of it?"

"Actually," Sorsen told her, "most of the Vulcanoid races in the quadrant possess at least minimal telepathic ability, whether they use it or not. Humans are somewhat unusual in that the telepathic structures in their brains are rudimentary, but complete. While very few Humans are capable of initiating telepathic contact, I have discovered that they are remarkably sensitive to its reception."

She finally met his eyes. "So I am entirely responsible."

"Yes," he said bluntly. "Not deliberately, of course. Not any more than you deliberately bonded your Orion captor. It is a matter of instinct. Vulcan mating instinct is far, far older than civilization, far older even than intelligence. Our pre-sapient ancestors were forming instinctive bonds with each other for survival of the blood line long before any of them thought to pick up a rock and make a fist axe."

"Thus, once again, I have behaved like an animal," she said bitterly.

"You behaved like a Vulcan," Sorsen corrected her. "You behaved like a Vulcan who was engaged in intimate relations with her mate-to-be. You behaved as your heritage demanded that you behave. There is no cause for shame in this."

"Why is it then," she suddenly demanded indignantly, "that a bonding does not occur with every mating? What of the priests and priestesses who assist the unbonded in Pon Farr?"

Sorsen regarded her calmly. "The priests or priestesses in such cases are not themselves suffering the fever. They are in full control of themselves, and their mind shields are intact. For the one who suffers the fever, the urge to bond is secondary. The primary need is physical. As long as the physical need is satisfied, their undisciplined and flailing attempts to connect with their partner can easily be deflected by a Vulcan mind that is in full control and shielded."

T'Riss stared in sudden understanding. "But Daniel has no shields."

"Correct." He tilted his head in confirmation. "Without extensive training, no Human would possess the shielding necessary to prevent the formation of a bond. Nor would an Orion. Nor would most of the Vulcanoid races in the quadrant. A Betazoid would, of course, or any of the other naturally telepathic species, but a Vulcan who mates with a member of a species that is not naturally telepathic, who yet possesses some latent telepathic ability, will almost invariably form a bond. Humans, with their unusual brain configuration, are particularly receptive."

"But I did not intend this!"

"It was not necessary for you to deliberately attempt to make a connection with Daniel," Sorsen repeated patiently. "Your physical intimacy triggered an instinctive response. Your body reacted with arousal, and the animal portion of your brain reacted by reaching out to your partner. Neither response was conscious or deliberately chosen."

"The fact that a betrothal bond formed so readily implies that we would have no difficulty forming a strong mating bond," T'Riss said thoughtfully.

"I suspect not," he told her.

"That was why Commander T'Pol warned me not to mate until we were both certain," T'Riss whispered. "It must be because their bond is so strong that to break it would be dangerous."

"Lady T'Pol has advised you of these matters?" Sorsen asked her in surprise.

T'Riss gave a start. "I regret my lapse, Healer Sorsen. I was not specifically asked to maintain silence, but I do not believe that…"

Sorsen raised a hand. "Set your concerns aside. All is confidential between healer and patient. I am already aware of the relationship between the commanders. If Commander T'Pol has offered you advice, I suggest that you consider it carefully. She has gained much experience with Humans in general, and with her bondmate over several years." T'Riss looked down. Sorsen continued. "I need to know, Crewman T'Riss. Do you desire the dissolution of the betrothal bond? Or not?"

"You could return me to my previous condition? With the exception of a gap in my memories?" T'Riss appeared to be close to regaining normal control, which reassured Sorsen that she might be able to make an informed decision.

"Approximately, yes," he told her. T'Riss closed her eyes and thought briefly.

"No, Healer Sorsen," she finally told him. "I do not wish to dissolve the betrothal bond at this time. I will discuss this matter with Daniel during our trip to Risa. Based on the outcome of those conversations, we will make a joint decision as to the logical course of action."

"I believe you have chosen wisely," Sorsen told her, pleased. He helped her down from the examination table and watched her walk out with her back straight, appearing significantly more confident than when she arrived.

#

Daniel blearily opened his eyes and blinked several times. The impression of being submerged in a muddy pool gradually clarified into a picture of the_ Enterprise's _ sickbay. A few minutes of confused thought brought back disjointed memories of coming in to get his back repaired again. He shifted carefully and was grateful to realize that he could feel his legs once more. His back still throbbed, but it was a soft ache instead of a blazing spear.

"Ah, Mr. Johansen. Welcome back." Dr. Phlox's jovial voice entered his ears, followed a moment later by his huge grin circling the end of the bed. "How are we feeling?"

"Dunno how you're feeling, Doc," Daniel grumbled. "But I feel like warmed over crap. I gotta admit though, my back isn't hurting nearly as much."

"Wonderful!" Phlox circled behind Daniel and ran some scans. "Everything seems to be knitting together quite nicely. Always gratifying when a repair job fixes the problem without needing any follow-up tweaking, don't you think?"

Daniel couldn't help smiling. "Yeah, you're right. I always hate having to go back and tear the same panel open twice." He gingerly stretched. "Not too bad. When can I go home?"

"I think it would be best if you waited here for perhaps another two to three hours at least," Phlox told him. "I want to make sure that the bonding agent and the sealer are fully hardened before I turn you loose for any more activity." Daniel was certain he heard a reproving note in the Denobulan's voice. He winced. "Meanwhile, I was hoping you might be willing to talk to Commander Tucker while you were here. Would you consider it?"

Daniel glanced over his shoulder at Phlox and hesitated. "He... um. Are he and Commander T'Pol really...?"

"Yes, they are," Phlox assured him. "Although that information is confidential. It is an open secret aboard _Enterprise_ of course. You can't keep something like that quiet aboard a ship this small. But they prefer not to let anyone else know about it unless it is someone that they personally decide to inform. Starfleet in particular might get a bit stuffy about permitting a bonded couple to serve aboard the same ship."

"Why?" Daniel was honestly puzzled. "Boomers always ship as family. And Vulcans have been serving with their mates for centuries. What's the problem?"

Phlox sighed. "Earth bureaucracy." Daniel grimaced and raised a hand.

"Say no more." He suppressed a shudder. "My lips are sealed." Phlox chuckled.

"In any case, if you don't mind I will call Commander Tucker up here for a few minutes. I am certain that he could provide you with some valuable advice," Phlox persisted.

"Sure," Daniel agreed glumly. "Cochrane knows I could use some help figuring that woman out."

Trip arrived just about the time Daniel was getting comfortable enough to doze again. "Commander. Welcome," Phlox greeted him happily. "Thank you for coming. I believe this young man could use the benefit of your experience."

"Well," Trip stuck his tongue into his cheek and looked at Daniel's supine form. "Point one. Vulcans are pretty strong. When they get excited they can hurt you if you aren't careful."

"Thanks, Trip," Daniel told him, deadpan. "I'll do my best to remember that."

Trip grinned. "Seriously though, there are some adjustments that you will need to make. For instance..." He hesitated, looking embarrassed, and Daniel interrupted.

"Things haven't gotten as far as you and Dr. Phlox seem to think," Daniel told him.

"Really?" Phlox asked. "Lady Sehlra said-"

"Yeah, I know," Daniel interrupted. "It was simpler to tell her and Jenrali that. It saved having to get into details that... well... never mind." He flushed.

Trip rubbed his jaw. "Hmm. So, are the two of you a couple or not?"

"Sorta," Daniel told him. "We're checking out the option. Talking... um. Mainly we've been talking about it."

Trip looked interested, while Phlox scratched his brow ridges. "Forgive me, Mr. Johansen," the Denobulan said carefully. "But Crewman T'Riss gave me the distinct impression when she was last here that the two of you either had, or intended to begin, engaging in sexual activity."

"Well," Daniel flushed an even deeper shade of crimson. "We... er... we have... you know, we... uh... she's given me back rubs. And I've kinda shown her a few things that Humans do. Like kissing." He faltered.

"What kinda kissin'?" Trip asked with an amused glint in his eye.

Daniel refused to look at either of them. "Just... you know... kissing. And a little... um... well... you know."

"'Fraid I don't," Trip refused to let him off the hook. "What besides regular kissin' are you talking about?"

"Well," Daniel's voice raised in pitch slightly. "You know... kissing and licking along the neck... and shoulders... and face... and... and...c'mon dammit! You know perfectly well what I'm talking about!"

"Ah," Phlox nodded. "I see. And the back rubs that you mentioned. How often and how extensively does she perform them?"

"You mean neuropressure?" Trip asked.

"Actually," Phlox spoke up, "I gave Crewman T'Riss a manual on Human massage therapy. She intended to study it so that she could apply the technique toward aiding Mr. Johansen's recovery."

"Oh, massage," Trip nodded. "Nice. Just the back?"

"Mostly," Daniel said, wishing he had never agreed to the meeting.

"You ever rub her?" Trip wanted to know.

"Not since-" Daniel interrupted himself. "No."

"Hmm." Trip stuck his tongue in his cheek thoughtfully. "What aren't you telling us, Daniel? Did T'Riss hurt you back by pressing too hard? But in that case, why would you say that it happened while you were having sex?"

Daniel writhed and looked up at the carefully innocent gazes of his two interrogators. "Oh, by the Mother. All right. Here it is. When we first started talking about getting together, T'Riss offered me sex. Ok? But I didn't want to take advantage of her when she was just getting over what happened on the station."

Trip nodded approvingly. "Good man. It's a big deal for a Vulcan, outside of Pon Farr. They don't go around jumping into bed with just anyone."

"I know," Daniel said. "But like I said, she made the offer, and she told me if I changed my mind the offer stood." He looked at them both. "Don't tell anyone I told you that."

"Of course not," Phlox assured him. "Doctor/patient confidentiality binds me. And I'm certain that Commander Tucker would never violate your privacy."

"No way," Trip promised, holding up his hand.

Daniel relaxed slightly. "Well, we were in my quarters and we were..." He stopped and sighed. "We were making out, all right? Like a pair of teenagers. We were on my bed kissing and making out. Then T'Riss -" he hesitated, "she... reached down and she...," Daniel closed his eyes and blurted, "she grabbed me. I don't mean grabbed, really. I mean she took me in her hand. She figured I was getting frustrated and she was going to help me out. But I misunderstood and thought it was an invitation. So I rolled over on top of her."

"I would suppose in a situation like that, any male might find himself drawing a similar conclusion," Phlox commiserated. "Although with my wives, it would be more likely for them to do the rolling atop."

Trip coughed hard. "Excuse me," he said in a strangled voice. "I gotta say that no Human male in the galaxy is gonna blame you. I don't."

"But this does not explain your injury," Phlox noted.

"She panicked," Daniel told them glumly. "When I rolled on top of her, T'Riss figured out what I was doing and it caught her by surprise. She just panicked and shoved me off. I hit the far wall like a torpedo and bounced. That's how my back got hurt."

"Ouch!" Trip winced. "That isn't good, Daniel. I thought my woman had issues. But, man..."

"Maybe the only kind of Vulcan woman that would look at one of us is the kind with issues," Daniel suggested tiredly.

"Could be," Trip admitted. "So what now? You still wanna try it?"

"I'd like to, if she'll let me help her," Daniel said. "T'Riss is a great girl. And I have to admit my options aren't real plentiful out here. I'm not likely to find anyone better, of any race. But I don't want to end up like her last bondmate either."

"Has she consulted a Vulcan Healer?" Phlox asked.

"Yeah," Daniel told him. "I know she is taking some kind of pills. I was hoping maybe she would talk to that melder guy while we're here, but that's up to her. But I'm afraid to mention it to her. I don't want to remind her about what happened." He thought for a moment. "On the other hand, if we're going to be mates, it's my responsibility to take care of her. I just don't know what to do. I don't know what I can do to fix this."

"Huh-uh! Whoa back there!" Trip jumped in. "You can't fix this. Throw that idea out the airlock right now. I know you want to. We all want to. But you can't. That's one of the first, and one of the hardest things you need to learn about women. _Don't_ try to fix things."

"What are you talking about?" Daniel asked in irritation.

Trip sighed. "Here's the thing. The more I learn about women, the less I know. But I am comin' to the conclusion that females are females, whether they're Human, or Vulcan, or whoever."

"Quite correct, Commander," Phlox assured him emphatically. "Trust me on this. I have three wives, and I have spent years in the Inter-Species Medical Exchange working with humanoid races throughout the quadrant. The male/female dichotomy is a universal constant no matter what planet you are on. Women are women everywhere, and they live to bewilder us."

"You mean with three wives, you don't understand them either?" Daniel asked. "I don't feel quite so stupid now."

"Three wives, eleven sisters, and more daughters, step-daughters, cousins, and nieces than you might believe possible," Phlox assured him. "And I don't truly understand them any better now than I did as a young lad when I first began to notice that they smell nice."

"Lemme just tell you this," Trip said, "It doesn't matter if she's Human or Vulcan, when an intelligent woman is upset about somethin' the last thing she wants is for you to come up with some smart-ass idea about how to fix the problem. She _knows _what she's gonna have to do to fix the problem, and half the time that's what's got her so upset in the first place. What she wants is sympathy… for you to tell her how sorry you are that she's in such a tough spot and that you're there if she needs help. So when you're in doubt about what to do, _don't_ try to fix things. It doesn't make sense, and it sure as hell isn't logical, but it works."

"But what if she doesn't know how to fix the problem?" Daniel asked. "I really don't think T'Riss knows."

"You might be surprised," Trip told him ironically. "But even if she doesn't, what can you do about it? Are you a Vulcan psychologist?"

"No," Daniel slumped. "You're right. There's nothing I can do except be there for her."

"The good thing is, that's probably enough," Trip told him. "Be there for her, and don't push her beyond what she can handle. As far as the sex, that comes along with the rest of it, in its own good time. Pushing it too early will mess things up for both of you."

"No joke," Daniel shifted position and winced.

"Besides," Trip hesitated. "You know about bonding, right?"

"Yeah," Daniel confirmed. "But I thought that just happened in Pon Farr?"

"Nope," Trip shook his head. "It can happen without it. At least between a Vulcan and a Human."

Daniel blinked. "Ok." He considered. "So... from what I heard in that hearing. I mean, from what T'Riss said, a bonding can be dissolved but there would still be some residual..." He paused at the sight of Trip shaking his head.

"No, not for one of us," Trip told him seriously. He looked at Phlox.

"We have investigated the matter rather intensively, as you might imagine," Phlox told Daniel. "When we learned that Commander Tucker and Commander T'Pol had in fact formed a full mating bond, there were many among the Vulcan scientific and medical establishment who refused to believe it."

"Not surprising," Daniel interjected dryly.

"Not surprising at all," Phlox agreed. "The commanders were both quite cooperative however, and agreed to submit to a thorough examination – including total brain scans. You see," the Denobulan dropped into what any member of the _Enterprise_ crew would have recognized instantly as his 'lecture mode'. "While there have been pairings between Humans and Vulcans before, a bonding had not been previously confirmed because the previous matings have been... kept confidential."

"You mean hidden," Daniel said bluntly.

"Yeah," Trip said. "But the brain scans they took said that we are bonded pretty dang tight. Seems my brain scans have changed the most. I didn't even know Humans had a telepathic center. But I guess we do. Mine was dormant until the bond formed. Now it's wide awake, and somehow it's forming cross-connections to everywhere and everything, according to Phlox."

"Indeed," Phlox confirmed. "Commander Tucker's telepathic rating has increased by a full order of magnitude since bonding with Commander T'Pol. But that's not all. His overall brain scans are beginning to resemble hers in several areas, particularly in those portions of the brain that control autonomic functions. You have some experience with Vulcans, Mr. Johansen," Phlox went on. "I presume you are aware of their extraordinary abilities such as the healing trance, and the ability to apply conscious control to their bodily systems?"

"Yes," Daniel said warily.

"Well," Trip said, "it looks like T'Pol is instinctively doing that to my systems. She didn't even know she was doing it until Phlox spotted the changes in my brain waves. Then he gave me a physical. My heart muscle is a lot tougher now, my circulation is better, my lungs have more capacity. I'm just in better shape all over."

"Hey!" Daniel slid to a semi-sitting position. "That's great!" He looked at them and his smile faded. "Isn't it?"

"Yes and no," Phlox said with a sigh. "It is certainly desirable that Commander Tucker's overall health has improved, but the fact is, while in the process of applying the changes T'Pol inadvertently rendered his autonomic functions dependent on her mind for continued functioning. If the bond is broken now, he will die almost instantly."

"Yikes!" Daniel started to turn pale. "Can't you do something about it?"

"Theoretically perhaps," Phlox said. "If, for example, T'Pol were dying and we had enough advance warning, I might be able to place Commander Tucker in stasis on full life support and keep him there until his own mind re-learned how to-"

"No way, Doc," Trip interrupted. "Not gonna happen. If T'Pol goes, what the hell would I want to hang around for anyway?" The other two looked at him for a long moment, but said nothing while he flushed slightly.

"Anyway," Trip hurriedly changed the subject. "If T'Riss is scared, I'm betting she's more scared of the emotional part than she is of the physical part anyway. Most likely she made the offer before she really felt anything for you, am I right?" Daniel nodded. "Now, if she's gettin' spooked at the thought of taking things all the way, it sounds like she's startin' to get some real feelings for you. With Vulcans, it's the feelings that scare the hell out of them. With them, when it comes to dealing with emotions, you gotta move in slow. Like taming a wild animal."

#

T'Riss entered the Human sickbay with a resolute stride. Whatever course her life took from this point forward, she refused to permit fear to dictate her behavior. Whether it be fear of pain, or fear of her family's disapproval, or fear of being alone, she would go forward as Surak had advised, and cast it out. She might spend the rest of her life disowned by her family and shunned by any self-respecting mate, but so be it. She would follow her own path, and she would never again permit her honor to be compromised for the sake of expediency.

Daniel was deep in conversation with Commander Tucker when she walked in, and Dr. Phlox was nowhere to be seen – presumably behind a curtain tending to another patient. The two men looked up as the door opened, and T'Riss saw Daniel's eyes brighten at the sight of her. A smile touched his face and her step faltered almost imperceptibly. Her chest tightened and she swallowed hard.

_After all I have done to him. And still..._

"Hi," Commander Tucker greeted her. "We've just been havin' some guy talk."

"Trip has been describing all the possible ways that a Human can screw up in a relationship with a Vulcan woman," Daniel informed her. "He's intimidating the heck out of me."

"I'm just trying to warn you about some of the landmines that blew up in my face, that's all," Trip told him cheerfully, clapping him on the shoulder as T'Riss raised both eyebrows.

"You make it sound like Vulcan women are as hard to understand as Human women, plus being Vulcan on top of it," Daniel complained, with a furtive glance at T'Riss, who was listening with deep interest.

"Pretty much, yep," Trip told him with a grin. "I better get back to Engineering. Nice seeing both of you. Good luck!" The Human officer waved cheerily and walked out without looking back, leaving T'Riss and Daniel together in a slightly awkward silence.

"Are you ready to return to the ship?" T'Riss finally asked.

"I guess so," Daniel told her. "Phlox told me I was on light duty for two more days. And no more, as he put it, massive impacts on my spine for the next two weeks. After that I should be good as new." He rummaged around on the tray beside the bed and came out with a fistful of vials. "He gave me some vitamin supplements too. Iron... Calcium...," Daniel squinted, "and this looks like just a big dose of multi-vitamins. Said I needed to build my bone and muscle mass back up. And not engage in…" He paused.

"What?" T'Riss asked.

"Nothing," Daniel waved it off. He swung his legs carefully over the side of the bed. "Could you please hand me my coverall? It's hanging in that closet over there." Daniel pointed and T'Riss obligingly went to fetch it. While she was digging out the coverall and the rest of Daniel's garments along with it, Phlox re-appeared from his back office.

"Ah, Crewman T'Riss. I see you have come to take our errant acrobat home. Please try to avoid assisting him with backflips for the foreseeable future, hmm?"

T'Riss felt her face tighten and darken. Daniel broke in angrily, "Doctor! That was uncalled for."

Phlox held up his hand. "I apologize. No offense was intended, I assure you. Merely trying to inject a bit of humor into a potentially uncomfortable situation." He looked at T'Riss. "However, as Mr. Johansen' physician I am compelled to ask this. Have you taken steps to prevent such injuries from occurring in the future?"

T'Riss raised her chin and forced herself to meet the Denobulan's eyes. "I have, Doctor. I have just come from a consultation with Healer Sorsen. I believe that after the meld Sorsen performed and the medicine that Healer Tyvek has provided, I now possess the resources to deal with my issues in a logical and constructive manner."

"Most excellent," Phlox's expression softened. "That is very good news. I know that Mr. Johansen has been worried about you," T'Riss shot a furtive glance at Daniel, "and frankly, so have I. Perhaps on your voyage to Risa the two of you will have the opportunity to work things out."

"We can hope anyway," Daniel said with forced jocularity as he slowly and cautiously managed to work his toes into his right sock. T'Riss moved over and promptly started dressing him like a child. "Hold it." Daniel stopped her. "I know you want to help, but you need to let me do this for myself. At least as much as I can do. Ok?"

T'Riss reluctantly back off. "If you insist." She watched anxiously as he, obviously still in pain, eventually managed to clothe himself. He even managed to put his own footgear on somehow. Then Daniel slid off the bed, grunting loudly when his feet impacted the floor.

"Oof." He sighed and rubbed his back. "Lot better. Not good yet, but a lot better. I can walk."

"Good to hear, youngster," Sehlra came walking through the door with a cup of coffee in her hand. "They were out of plomeek soup, so I brought this."

"Lady, you are a vision of loveliness," Daniel proclaimed. He moved carefully across the floor and reached eagerly for the steaming mug. "At least when you're carrying coffee."

She snorted and looked at T'Riss. "Everything taken care of at the Vulcan ship?" When T'Riss nodded she said, "Let's go then. Jenrali will be chewing the arms off his pilot's seat. Thanks for the new repair job, Doctor." She waved at Phlox and got a cheerful wave and smile in return.

As the trio headed down the corridor, moving slowly to accommodate Daniel's shuffling gait, Sehlra told T'Riss, "I'm going to finish processing the paperwork for the new passengers and make sure that all of the old passengers that want a refund get straightened out before we leave. I will meet the two of you back home as soon as I'm done. Tell Jenrali that we are _not_ leaving under any circumstances until that spare set of crystals and the two extra injectors that Trip was going to send over get there. If he doesn't like it, he can nurse his own iceworm begotten warp core."

"Yes, ma'am," Daniel snapped out crisply. "Acknowledged." Sehlra nodded in satisfaction and strode on ahead, leaving T'Riss in relative privacy with Daniel for the first time since they left the control room on _Lerteiran_.

"It is agreeable to see you feeling better, Daniel," T'Riss said awkwardly.

"Thanks." He gave her a smile. "How did things go with the healer? Feel better?"

T'Riss pressed her lips together and glanced behind. No one was visible in either direction. "I do." She kept her voice lowered, uncomfortable about discussing the matter at all, much less in a ship's corridor. "I have been able to clarify several issues in my mind that were causing discord."

"Good," Daniel told her carefully. "That's good to hear." They both fell silent for a while until the turbo lift doors closed behind them. As the car started moving T'Riss abruptly made a decision.

"Daniel, I wish to tell you something. Actually, it is a confession of sorts."

"Um, sure," Daniel looked curious. "What is it?"

She took a deep breath and opened her mouth – just as the turbolift doors opened. "It can wait for a more private moment."

"All right." He gave her an odd look as they moved out and headed for the airlock. The main entryway was full of Starfleet personnel heading in both directions, and the two of them focused exclusively on making it to the airlock without causing a collision. Once clear of _Enterprise_ and back on the station T'Riss decided not to resume her interrupted line of thought.

The walk back to _Lerteiran_ was noticeably quicker than coming in the other direction, but Daniel was apparently reminded of their last trip because he started once again musing on the details of their proposed trading route once the passengers had been delivered. He seemed fixated on the prospect of arranging an open auction at Stavlas 5 for their presumed hold full of Terran chocolate.

"No doubt it will be a lucrative cargo," T'Riss ventured diffidently, "but are you certain that you are not overestimating?"

"You don't understand," Daniel told her enthusiastically. "Chocolate is starting to be, in this quadrant, what spices used to be on Earth a thousand years ago. It's almost a medium of exchange in itself. Some people have exported the plants, but it isn't the same. You not only need Earth sunshine and atmosphere, you need the right soil conditions that can only be found on a few areas of Earth. Plus, once you have the plants they still have to be processed, and nobody has the skill to do that like my people. It's the most popular export my people have. Andorians alone will buy all we can sell. Not to mention the Tarkellions and the Rigellians." He grinned hugely.

"Then why do you not simply sell the chocolate on Andoria?" T'Riss wondered. "If you are intending to invest the profit from the chocolate on Andorian ale to be sold on Earth why expend the time and effort it would require to travel to Stavlas 5 ?"

"Competition, Hon," Daniel told her. T'Riss felt a tingle in her spine. Her research had revealed that Humans often addressed their mates using substitute names as an expression of affection. The database reference had included a list of some traditional 'nick' names of which 'Hon', or 'Honey' had been cited as two of the most common. Daniel however, continued speaking with no detectable change in tone or expression. Perhaps his use of the word had not been a conscious decision. A subconscious reflex would be added evidence that the betrothal bond was influencing him. She must certainly speak with him as soon as possible once they were underway. The unsettling thought occurred that if she spoke to him before they left and he wished to dissolve the betrothal bond, Sorsen was conveniently available... She swiftly shoved it to the back of her mind.

He continued, "If we just sold it on Andoria there would be a set limit to what we could expect to get for it. But when you put something up for auction, especially when the people bidding are business rivals, you provoke their natural aggression. Not only do they want it for themselves, they also want to stop their competition from getting it. Understand?"

T'Riss contemplated the explanation. "It seems inefficient. Would it not be more cost effective for the purchasers to make an agreement among themselves as to the maximum that they are willing to pay?"

"Sure." Daniel shrugged. "But you're forgetting that natural aggression thing. Plus you're talking about Vulcans, and Andorians, and Tellarites, and Nausicans, and Humans, and Orions, and Rigellians, and Tarkellians, and Denobulans, and Arkonians, and Betazoids, and Klingons, and..."

She held up her hand. "I believe I understand. Achieving a consensus would be impossible."

"Yep," He smiled with satisfaction. "Which is why we are going to be filthy, stinking, rich."

Her brow wrinkled. "Where…?"

"Don't ask. I don't know where the saying comes from."

No one was visible when they boarded _Lerteiran_. "Oh, that's nice," Daniel relaxed as _Lertieran's_ Andorian gravity field took a substantial load off his spine. He thumbed the comm panel beside the airlock and announced, "Crewmen Johansen and T'Riss request permission to come aboard."

Jenrali's voice snapped back, _"About time you two layabouts got back. Where's Sehlra? This pre-flight checklist isn't getting any shorter while she goes shopping and sight-seeing." _

Daniel grinned. "Last I saw she was admiring the artwork on _Enterprise_ and said something about paying a visit to Damin's stateroom on _Sehlat_. Don't worry. She should be back by tomorrow morning. Probably." He snickered.

T'Riss looked at him, appalled. "Daniel! That is a complete fabrication!"

"_Ignore him, lass,"_ Jenrali's voice told her. _"When he's feeling playful nothing that comes out of his mouth is fit to listen to. Besides, is he drugged?" _

"Just a little bit," Daniel said. He held up his discharge bag. "But I got a whole big sackful of goodies here that Phlox gimme to take later."

"Did that Denobluan at least fix your back?" Jenrali wanted to know.

"Good as new, maybe better," Daniel reported giddily.

T'Riss eyed him. "I suspect that the lingering effects of the analgesics are influencing you, Daniel."

"_Put the young fool to bed then, ass,"_ Jenrali instructed. _"And don't break him this time, please. We've spent more time patching that boy up than we have the ship on this run."_

T'Riss tightened her lips but managed, barely, to refrain from commenting. "Yes, Captain." She turned Daniel toward the access ladder and hovered anxiously as he whistled his way to his living quarters. Once inside she briskly deposited his medication on his desk, stripped him to his underwear, slid him into his bunk, tucked him in, and brought him a drink of water.

"Gosh, Mom," Daniel looked up and smiled. "Thanks. All I need now is a goodnight kiss."

T'Riss paused and swallowed. "Have you eaten today?" He blinked.

"Come to think of it, no," Daniel admitted. "Not since that muffin you brought me for breakfast."

T'Riss sighed inwardly. "In that case, I believe that food should take precedence over sleeping. I will bring you something."

Daniel suddenly yawned. "I really doubt that I'll be awake when you get back." He stretched, carefully, and looked pleased. "That feels really good, to be able to do that."

T'Riss carried his desk chair to the side of the bunk and sat down. "Daniel... I need to talk to you."

Daniel replaced his arms at his sides and regarded her calmly. "Ok. I'm here. Shoot." She winced and he corrected, "I mean, go ahead. I'm listening."

She closed her eyes and focused on the Disciplines. _Cast out fear._ When T'Riss opened her eyes she was ready. She hoped. She met Daniel's eyes and began. "When I first approached you about the possibility of marriage, I confess that my motives were entirely selfish. I had concluded that due to my experiences with the Orions no Vulcan would accept me, and my only option would be to seek a non-Vulcan mate."

"I know," Daniel told her. "I knew then." T'Riss felt her belly tighten. "You really never made a secret of it. It wasn't as if you pretended that you had suddenly developed a passionate fondness for smelly, red-blooded Humans." There was no accusation in his voice, which did not make her feel any better.

"This is not..." T'Riss fumbled for words. "What I meant is that, had I been capable of ..." She looked at him.

"If you could find a Vulcan mate, you would," Daniel told her. "I know." There was something buried deep in his eyes that T'Riss most emphatically did not want to explore. "Neither of us started this on the basis of romantic love, after all. Vulcans don't have a monopoly on marriages of convenience, T'Riss. Humans have been doing the same thing for more centuries than anyone can count. I chose you for the same reason you chose me, because you are the best option I can get. I don't see anything wrong with that. It's... logical to me."

"If," For some reason, T'Riss was having difficulty with her breathing. No doubt it was due to the high humidity levels in Daniel's cabin. "Does this mean that if you could find a more appropriate Human mate, that you would sever our... association in favor of her?" It was definitely the humidity, which was even causing undue moisture to collect at the corners of her eyes.

Daniel looked at her silently for several breaths. "We don't really know a lot about each other, do we? Here we are discussing marriage, and I don't even know where you grew up, or if you have siblings. And all you know about me is the little I have told you in passing."

"I grew up in the city of Nal'hir," she told him steadily. "I have a brother and a sister. My father is assistant subdirector for the northwest region of the southern administrative district. My mother is a professor of history at the University of Shi'Kahr."

His smile widened. "Sounds like a nice family."

"I was fortunate in many ways." She looked at him. "You have evaded my question. It is not necessary to conceal the truth in order to spare my feelings, Daniel. I would prefer honesty in all things."

"Honesty." Daniel reached up and absently scratched his nose. "Honestly, after my family was killed I spent the next few years in a creche on Earth. When I was old enough I applied to be returned to my family's people, the Boomers. I found a ship willing to give me a chance, but it didn't work out as well as we had all hoped." He shifted his head on the pillow several times, as if burrowing into the pad. "When I reached the age of eighteen I decided to leave. We happened to be in orbit around Vulcan, and the K'Haril shipyards were looking for laborers. I got lucky."

"Eighteen..." T'Riss sat back. "You were quite young. I realize that Humans mature more quickly than we do, but…"

"Eighteen is legally an adult on Earth," Daniel told her. "But that didn't mean I was fully mature. I wasn't. Soon after that I met the Vulcan family I told you about. The one that took me in."

She considered this. "I am failing to perceive the connection between this information and the question I asked you."

"The happiest times in my life were spent on Vulcan," Daniel told her. "In fact, I never felt more at home anywhere than I did there." He raised a hand and she stopped what she had been about to say. "I realize that there are disadvantages. Mainly, it's hotter than hell's furnace room. And trying to breathe without air conditioning in that desiccated blast furnace at the strangling edge of vacuum that your people call an atmosphere is an ordeal that would wring pity out of a Klingon. But generally it's worth it. So, no. If all she had to offer was being Human, I would not dump you for her."

T'Riss tilted her head. "I have noted before the Human predilection for answering a simple question with a hundred words when one would have sufficed."

"Part of our winsome charm," he informed her with a wry grin. "Now what were you going to confess to me?"

T'Riss let a small sigh escape. "I will tell you after I bring back the food. It will give me time to settle my mind. If you are asleep I will leave it on your desk and we can continue our talk later." She left, shaking her head.

As she descended the access ladder the airlock cycled and Sehlra's voice echoed up the well. "You already know the way to the cargo hold, Damin." A note of suppressed affection was clearly detectable, although T'Riss was confident that the Andorian would have snarled at anyone impudent enough to point it out.

"Quite clearly," the Betazoid' voice replied. "As I'm sure Raijiin also does." T'Riss halted on the ladder, frozen in place with one hand poised over a rung. Suspicions raced through her mind.

_What is happening here? Has Raijiin taken control of Sehlra? Is Damin assisting her? His telepathic abilities are very nearly her equal, perhaps even more. Is Agent Senek also under control? Impossible, he is a trained operative. He was able to subdue her when she was imprisoned on the Human ship._

"Have you dealt with the issue of Mr. Johansen yet?" Agent Senek's voice rose up the ladder.

"He's probably in his quarters, with T'Riss," Sehlra said.

"I am not looking forward to this," Raijiin spoke for the first time. T'Riss nodded. Confirmed. She was actually aboard, her voice was unmistakable. "Considering what happened last time, there is no doubt that he will resist this fiercely."

"Daniel will obey," Sehlra spoke flatly.

T'Riss felt her nostril's flare. She released her hold on the ladder and kicked her feet free of the rungs in a single smooth motion. As she dropped the two levels down to the cargo deck she focused inward on the Disciplines and set her muscles into attack mode.

"**Raijiin! Run!"** Damin's shout split the air as T'Riss felt her feet hit the deck plates. She charged through the hatchway, seeing Raijiin fleeing in the direction of the cargo hold with Damin following – apparently guarding her back. Powerful telepathic probes jabbed at her mind and were deflected by her shields, which were powered by the energy of battle frenzy.

_She intends to hurt Daniel again. She has taken control of Sehlra, and now she wants to do it to Daniel. Again. I must stop her. _

Agent Senek stepped between her and the two escaping telepaths. "Crewman T'Riss, you must stop. There is no need for strife. We…"

T'Riss dove for the deck plates in a shoulder roll and made it past Senek before he had time to react. By the time the older male got turned around and moving again, she was back on her feet and closing in on her prey. Damin looked back, and for the first time since she'd met him T'Riss saw what looked like a trace of real fear.

A stunning blow struck her shoulder and drove her sideways into the bulkhead. T'Riss whirled to face Senek, who was reaching for a nerve pinch. She moved at maximum speed, blocking his hand and counter-striking with knee and elbow to his belly and jaw. Then she ducked and spun to resume her pursuit.

Senek snatched and barely managed to grab her arm. T'Riss pulled almost free, but Senek hung onto her wrist. T'Riss turned and attempted to twist loose, unsuccessfully. Instead, a scarred-faced Vulcan unfamiliar to T'Riss stepped between Senek and herself and, using an exotic movement that T'Riss had never seen before, tripped and threw her onto her back. She felt her wrist bones snapping on the way down. As Senek and his accomplice pinned her to the deck, the sound of the cargo hatch slamming shut echoed down the corridor.

#

Daniel's eye flew open and he rolled his legs off the edge of the bed, tense and hard. _What happened? T'Riss? What?_ Then it hit him, the image, the sound, the _**pain**_.

"Damn you!" Two long steps carried Daniel across his quarters to the bottom drawer of his storage bin. The pain in his back was gone. In fact, he couldn't seem to feel much of anything at the moment. Three quick snaps of the latches and he slid the drawer open. His sword lay inside, the one that tradition had required him to make in commemoration of completing the first level of the Suus Mahna. The shape of the blade matched that of a Japanese katana, but the grip and guard were patterned after Vulcan tradition, while the materials and crafting methods he had used were state-of-the-art. The result was a weapon that would have put a wolfish grin on the face of old Tokugawa himself.

Daniel snatched the sword and leaped for the door with his heart thundering in his ears. All he knew was that T'Riss was hurt. It was all he needed to know.

#

"I was going to tell both of you," the old Andorian female scolded, carefully splinting and wrapping the young woman's wrist. "You fool. This is what I was talking about when we first got to the Human ship," she said to the girl, who was hardly more than a child despite her impressive combat skills. Senek noted that the Andorian's tone was significantly less harsh than her words.

"I regret the damage inflicted, Crewman T'Riss," Senek told her sincerely. "I underestimated your speed and then failed to release your wrist when Llahir stepped in to assist me…" He gave Llahir a meaningful look, awaiting a similar apology from him. Llahir just raised a brow, seeming not at all contrite, and then, looking over Senek's shoulder, suddenly crouched into what looked like a battle ready stance and reached to his left hip with his right hand. The battle scarred Vulcan looked vaguely surprised, glancing down at his hip as if he'd expected to find something to grip just as Senek felt something hit him hard in the side and smash him into the bulkhead at high velocity. His reflexes had him moving before sensory input could be processed, but he managed to stop himself barely in time. The Vulcan's hands froze halfway to his attacker's throat as his brain processed three important pieces of information at the same time.

The first piece of data was audible - it was the voice of T'Riss shouting, "Daniel! No!" The second was tactile, and even more arresting. It was the cold feel of the sword blade pressing against his neck. The third piece of data was the most attention-seizing of all. It was the sight of Daniel Johansen's face. The young man's head was lowered, with narrowed eyes glaring at Senek from beneath scowling brows. The vessels in the Human's eyes were engorged, reddening them in a visible manifestation of his rage, while the blood vessels in both his temples and throat were visibly pulsing. His mouth was open to emit rasping breaths that sounded unnervingly like growls, and his lower fangs were on display.

Senek spoke very carefully. "Mr. Johansen. I am sure that we…" He stopped instantly when the blade flipped edge up and started slicing into his lower jaw. There was no pain at first;the blade was too sharp. But Senek felt a slight trickle of blood start to flow down his chest.

"You... hurt... my woman," Daniel's voice was shaking. "You shouldn't... have done that."

"Daniel." T'Riss kept her voice soft and calm. "It was an error. A mistake."

"Damn right. The stupidest mistake he ever made." The Human's eyes never left Senek, who started to feel rather like a k'bet under the gaze of a morloch. Over the Human's shoulder, Senek could see Llahir watching the confrontation with his arms crossed over his chest, looking mildly entertained and not the least inclined to assist.

"I am deeply sorry for the injury I caused," Senek told Daniel.

"Not yet you're not," Daniel hissed. "But you will be." His grip tightened.

"Daniel!" Sehlra snapped out the young man's name like the sergeant she had once been. "Stop. Now. That's an order. Stand down, Crewman."

Daniel froze and looked tortured. "But he... hurt… her." He shot a swift look at Sehlra, returning his attention to Senek before the agent had time to do more than twitch.

"Daniel." T'Riss carefully approached him and put her hands over his, covering the sword hilt. The splint on her injured wrist was in plain view and Daniel flinched at the sight of it. He pulled the sword back and gently took her forearm in his hand, suddenly ignoring Senek.

"How bad does it hurt?" Daniel shook his head and blinked sweat out of his eyes several times. "What just happened?"

"Sit down, Daniel," T'Riss said worriedly. "I had intended to tell you this as soon as we were underway, but it seems that I will not have the luxury of waiting." She glanced up and requested of the room in general, "May we please have some privacy?"

"No," Sehlra told her bluntly. "I have some words for this young man." Then she fixed her glare on Daniel. "Daniel Johansen. You DO NOT go around threatening paying passengers with weapons. Not without authorization you don't. Unless Jenrali or I give you a direct order, you kill no one on this ship. Is that understood?"

"Yes, ma'am," Daniel nodded, looking dazed. "I don't know what…"

"It was my fault," T'Riss interrupted. Senek suddenly elevated his eyebrows as clarity burst through his puzzlement. A single harsh bark came from Llahir's direction. Senek shot him an appalled look. Had the man just laughed? Llahir gazed back at him innocently.

"I see," Senek interjected, ignoring the outburst and returning his attention to the Human. "That certainly explains Mr. Johansen's reaction. An entirely understandable response to an attack on his bondmate. In fact," he nodded at Daniel. "I must salute your forbearance. I am fortunate to be alive."

"Bondmate?" Sehlra alternated staring from T'Riss to Daniel. "When did this happen and why didn't you tell someone?"

"Because nobody told me," Daniel muttered, looking askance at T'Riss.

The young Vulcan woman sighed and held up a hand. "Please, if I may have one moment I will explain." She gave a rapid summation of what Sorsen had told her, along with her decision to sit down with Daniel after they were underway and have an extended discussion.

"So it's a betrothal bond. Yeah," Daniel rubbed his face. "Oh, yeah. Definitely. We need to talk." He looked up. "What happened down here anyway? How did your wrist get broken?"

T'Riss looked rueful and told him why her wrist got broken. Four seconds later she and Senek were pinning his arms while Sehlra appropriated his sword. Daniel continued to kick and swear with undiminished vigor until Sehlra slapped his cheek. He stopped in shock and stared at her.

"Enough." Sehlra's tone brooked no argument. "You swore to obey the chain of command as part of the partnership agreement. Do you want to sell out your share?"

Daniel wilted. "Sell out?" His eyes held the expression of a wounded puppy. "No. You want me to?"

"Of course not, fool." Sehlra softened. "But you must stop this foolishness. You grew up in space, Daniel. You know that discipline is the difference between life and death for everyone aboard ship. You can't defy orders this way. The contract is made. Our word is given. Either deal with having that mind raping whore aboard or leave the ship. We cannot renege on a contract, you know that."

"I cannot believe that you would do this." Daniel looked and sounded betrayed.

"You may rest assured, Mr Johansen," Senek told him. "Raijiin is under complete control."

"How?" Daniel wanted to know. "Leg irons? Drugs?"

Senek pursed his lips. "Her telepathic abilities are quite formidable, but she lacks experience in many areas. My own skills are sufficient to ensure that her behavior remains within acceptable parameters." Daniel looked doubtful.

"If he can't control her," Sehlra assured him, "we already told her that she's going out the airlock. No warning, no mercy."

"She will harm no one aboard this ship," T'Riss said firmly. "She will be monitored constantly, and any cause for suspicion will result in summary execution. She will not be given the benefit of the doubt, Agent Senek's assurances notwithstanding."

Daniel sighed and nodded. "All right." He gave T'Riss a long look. "Since I'm up anyway, I'm going up to the control room to help get Jenrali get us underway. Want to come?"

"No," Sehlra countermanded. "I need her to secure the passenger's luggage and do the final pre-flight checks down here. You put this away," she handed Daniel his sword hilt first. He took it, looking embarrassed. "Then go on up to the bridge. I'm going to the engine room and stow the parts Commander Tucker sent over." Sehlra shot T'Riss a direct look. "And I need to have a talk with you when I get back, Crewman."

#

"_Lerteiran, you are cleared to un-dock."_

"Acknowledged, station," Jenrali said.

"Detaching airlock seal, confirm separation," Daniel recited.

"Airlock separated, check. Activate magnetic buffer field. Commence detachment," Jenrali ordered.

"Buffer field on, aye. Confirm."

"Confirm buffer active, check."

"Detaching clamps, aye. Clamp one disengaged. Clamp two disengaged. Clamp three disengaged. Clamp four disengaged. Clamp five disengaged. Clamp six disengaged. Detachment complete, captain," Daniel reported, "We are floating free."

"Setting thrusters to .001 sublight standard, standby for impulse as soon as we clear the station," Jenrali announced into the intercom. He told Daniel, "Set course for Risa."

"Aye. Captain," Daniel replied. "Locking navcomp on Risa. Setting temporary relative coordinate 0,0,0, at destination."

Jenralis spoke into the intership microphone. "Departure vector 110x by 33y by 0.12z, 0.50 standard impulse, delta 0.0. "

"_Acknowledged, Lerteiran." _

"Engine status?" Jenrali wanted to know.

"Everything orange down here," Sehlra called up. "Nice and stable."

"Good enough." He hit the announcement button. "All hands, prepare for warp one."

Daniel closed his eyes and said a prayer while he wrapped his legs around the pedestal of his seat and grabbed his console with both hands. There was a relatively minor jerk, a coarse vibration that started small and ascended quickly to a bone shaking rattle, then stopped abruptly. Two seconds of silent stillness, then _Lerteiran_ splashed into subspace. That's how it felt to Daniel at least. But he had no difficulty holding his chair and no bones got broken. "Beautiful."

Jenrali grinned back at him. "It is nice, isn't it? Smooth as a Vulcan's lies."

"I wouldn't go that far," Daniel chuckled.

Continued in Episode 11. 


	11. Chapter 11a

**The Lerteiran Chronicles**

**Episode Eleven: Getting to Know You**

**By Blacknblue and 2Distracted**

**Genre: Action Adventure and Romance**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Disclaimer: We don't own the Star Trek universe. We just go there to play. Honest. **

**We do, however, own our original characters and story ideas. You are welcome to borrow them as long as no money changes hands. If we can't make anything from this, nobody else gets to either.**

**Summary: A stowaway causes all hell to break loose aboard Lerteiran, Archer has to face his crew, Sehlra confronts Damin, and Daniel and T'Riss decide what they're going to do about the bond.**

######################################

T'Lar input her unlocking code and entered the quarters she shared with her brother. It was time for the evening meal and she was feeling generous. Confinement to quarters was very difficult for the boy, but he'd given her no trouble all day.

"Selim!" she called. "Would you like to take a meal in the officer's dining room with me? Chef has a new recipe, Orion grakk-fruit pie. He tells me the dish is quite popular on station." Silence was the only response to her inquiry. "Selim!"

She swept briskly through the cabin, checking inside closets, beneath beds, inside the small bathroom―no Selim. So she went to the computer console on her desk and input a query regarding her brother's location. A second later she stared in disbelief at the line of text on the screen.

"The requested civilian passenger is no longer aboard this vessel."

With shaking hands, T'Lar input another query. "When and how did he leave the ship?'

"Sensors do not detect a means of departure. His biosigns disappeared from his assigned cabin at 0937 today."

Mentally chastising herself for not setting alarm parameters requiring the computer to automatically inform her of the absence of Selim's biosigns, T'Lar retrieved her cabin's internal sensor logs. Privacy concerns forbade routine vid recordings inside crew quarters on ships of the Vulcan Space Fleet, but biosign recordings were always retrievable. At the moment noted by the computer record Selim's biosigns had indeed ceased. There were no other individual's biosigns within the cabin at the time and no transporter traces, so presumably he hadn't been killed or kidnapped. She moved on to the cabin's security logs. A few moments after the computer reported cessation of Selim's biosigns someone had used her code to open the cabin door from the inside. A niggling suspicion caused her to go into her bedroom and inspect her collection of Pre-Sundering artifacts. Selim had been working on an ancient sensor baffle as a technology project, she recalled. When she discovered the missing fuel cell her worry was abruptly transformed into full-blown meditation-requiring annoyance. The child was hiding.

_I have no time for this_, she thought irritably. Then she got on the comm.

"T'Lar to Security."

"_Centurion Solis here, Commander. May I be of assistance?"_

Her chief of security was solid, composed, and invariably courteous. She took a deep calming breath. "My brother is somewhere on the ship wearing an operational Pre-Sundering sensor baffle, Centurion. Send out all the men you can spare. I want him located before the end of this shift and brought to our quarters under armed guard."

"Commander?" queried the unflappable security officer in a shocked voice. T'Lar took another deep breath.

"Don't injure him, Centurion, but if you get the opportunity to frighten the wits out of him you may feel free to do so."

#

"Put it on the main screen," Archer ordered in a confident voice. Hoshi shot him an uncertain look but complied. Her uncertainty was understandable, he supposed. His extended stay in sickbay and the recent visits by a Vulcan melder/healer—plus various speculations about possible connections between the two—were currently the chief subjects of the ship's rumor mill.

Rumors notwithstanding, according to the results of the psychological tests Phlox had performed he was now command-ready and more mentally stable than he'd ever been. More importantly, both Trip and T'Pol had cleared him. If he trusted nothing else in the galaxy, he trusted their judgment. He had never been more uncertain or frightened in his life than when he'd sat down across the table from the two of them to be judged.

He shook his head slightly and returned his attention to the view screen. Time to deal with this call and keep up an appearance of confidence. Only Trip, T'Pol, Phlox, and the healer Sorsen were aware of how close Jonathan Archer had come to permanently losing command of the _Enterprise_. Archer hoped it would stay that way. It had to, or his career was toast.

The grim-jawed visage of Admiral Gardner appeared, framed by what appeared to be a pair of civilians wearing business suits. The background looked to be somewhere other than the admiral's office. Perhaps a conference room? The civilian to the admiral's left was a silver haired man whose collar was concealed beneath two chins and deeply wrinkled jowls. The one on the admiral's right was younger, dark haired and wearing a supercilious expression. Archer took a deep breath and summoned up a welcoming smile.

"Hello, Admiral. It's good to hear from you," he told Gardner. "I've been expecting your call."

"No doubt," Gardner growled. He eyed Archer narrowly. "How are you feeling, Jonathan? The last few transmissions indicated that you were under the weather."

"Much better, Admiral," Archer smiled brightly. "Thanks for asking. Just some kind of bug I must have picked up while we were dealing with the station refugees." He kept a studiously innocent expression on his face.

"Humph," Gardner scratched his beard. "It's good to see you feeling better, Jon. We need to talk. I think you might want to take this in your ready room."

Archer glanced around the bridge. Hoshi kept her eyes fixed on her board like she was chained there. Malcolm stood at tactical in a parade rest position, with absolutely no expression on his face. Travis made a point of staying busy with the nav console. And T'Pol… was T'Pol. Just like always. Archer briefly considered inventing an excuse to call Trip to the bridge for moral support but shoved it aside. He had already loaded far too much on Trip as it was.

"I'm sorry, Admiral," Archer told the screen, "but we're still smoothing out some repair bugs from our fight with that Romulan warbird. Nothing major, but I would rather not leave the bridge just now. Just in case. I'm sure you understand."

"All right, Jon, if that's the way you want it," Gardner said slowly. "It's the aftermath of the fight with the Romulan that we need to talk about. This gentleman," he indicated the heavy-jowled specimen seated to his left, "is Senator Oliver Lawrence. Senator Lawrence is chairman of the appropriations committee for space operations. To my right," Gardner tilted his head, "is Mr. Wayne Olberman. Mr Olberman is a personal…assistant… to the president." Gardner's voice tightened slightly on the last few words and he gave Archer a warning look.

Archer nodded. "Pleasure to meet both of you. To what do I owe the honor?" He settled back in the command chair and tried to look as relaxed as possible.

Olberman's supercilious look barely escaped being a sneer, but he looked across at Lawrence and waited for him to open the conversation. The older man interlaced his fingers and pushed his chin forward a bit. "Well, Captain Archer, the fact is we have a bit of a problem. We're hoping that you can help us out with it."

"By all means, Senator," Archer assured him. "I'm at your disposal."

"Disposal is likely to be precisely the outcome, Captain," Olberman said between his teeth. "Do you have any idea how the Vulcan government reacted when they learned that you had locked weapons on one of their ships?" Gardner winced, looking unhappy but saying nothing.

"I would imagine they were not happy," Archer replied thoughtfully. "How did Earthgov react when they learned that the Vulcans had beamed an armed boarding party aboard _Enterprise_ with the express intention of attacking my crew and kidnapping our prisoner?"

"That's none of your concer-" Olberman started.

"Wayne," Lawrence interrupted him. The younger man stopped and pressed his lips together, glaring. "You see, Captain Archer, it's like this," the old man told him. "There are still a lot of folks back here that would just as soon we quit mucking around out there. Terra Prime is fading out fast. But that doesn't mean xenophobia is a thing of the past." He sighed and looked tired. "And I'll just tell you the truth. A bunch of people haven't forgiven the Vulcans for not backing us up with the Xindi. That doesn't surprise you, does it?"

Archer gripped the arms of his chair for a moment. Memories of an old and long-standing anger surfaced, but they were distant. He understood only too well the inability to forgive in this instance, but his own feelings were closer to resignation, even acceptance. Vulcans would be Vulcans. It did no one any good to be angry about it. "No, Senator. I'm afraid that it doesn't." From the corners of his eyes, he noted that the members of his bridge crew were hanging onto every word.

Gardner stepped in. "You see, Jon, there have been incidents of friction between Vulcans working here and some of the civilian employees – both at the embassy and at Starfleet. It's gotten bad enough that Ambassador Soval has ordered a lockdown of the Vulcan compound. None of his people are allowed to go out except on official business, and then only under guard." Archer winced.

"That's only going to encourage paranoia, Admiral," he offered.

"Maybe so," Gardner admitted. "But we can't prevent them from taking precautions."

"Now you see, Captain," Lawrence picked up the ball again. "Not only is this situation turning into a diplomatic migraine, but if word spreads that an Earth ship and a Vulcan ship pulled weapons on each other… well. We still hold a majority in the Senate, but the House is not so solid. Starfleet could lose its funding completely."

"So tell us, Captain," Olberman sneered, "just exactly what were you thinking with your cowboy diplomacy? I suppose you thought you were going to intimidate the captain of that Vulcan battleship?"

Archer looked at him. "Actually, Mr. Olberman, the ship is a D'Kyr cruiser, not a battleship. And T'Lar is a commander, not a captain…but to answer your question," he went on calmly, before the red-faced civil servant had time to blow up, "I was trying to prevent the situation from escalating. Commander T'Lar is very young and unaccustomed to dealing with Humans. In fact, she's not used to dealing with diplomatic confrontations of any kind; witness the ham-handed way she dumped a boarding party onto a friendly ship. I knew I had to do something fast to grab her attention before she went too far and put us both into a position that neither of us could back out of."

T'Pol's eyebrow shot skyward, and she looked at Archer with new respect. He made a decision then and there never to ask whether she respected his decision about the confrontation with T'Lar or just admired his ability to spin a fast line of bull. Either one worked.

Olberman stared, flabbergasted. Both Gardner and Lawrence on the other hand, looked thoughtful. "I see," Gardner said slowly. "So you claim it was a calculated gamble. You were betting that she would back down rather than call your bluff."

"I don't claim anything, Admiral. It's a simple fact." Archer let a trace of irritation creep into his voice. "Vulcans instinctively disrespect weakness. The surest way to convince a Vulcan that they can get away with walking all over you is to let them push you without pushing back."

"What would you have done," Olberman was rapidly rebuilding his self-confidence, "if she had called your bluff? There would have been no way your ship could stand against Vulcan weapons," he pointed out triumphantly.

Archer raised one eyebrow in Vulcan fashion and gave him a look that he felt confident Surak would have approved. "There was no possibility that Commander T'Lar would open fire on _Enterprise_," he said firmly.

"What justification do you have for making that claim?" Senator Lawrence asked him, sounding more interested than anything else.

Archer scanned the three men on screen and sighed openly. "None of you gentlemen strike me as the type to be interested in the study of Vulcan mystical beliefs, so I won't try to explain what the recovery of the Kirshara really means to the people of Vulcan. The closest I can come in Human terms would be if someone were able to recover the original tablets of stone that the Ten Commandments were carved on. That's how important it is to them."

Gardner nodded. "We get that. Ambassador Soval said it was the single most important archaeological discovery in the past two millennia." The other two indicated agreement.

Archer smiled. "Of the three people who discovered the Kirshara, two of them were on _Enterprise_ at the time of the confrontation with _Sehlat_. In addition, Commander T'Pol's mother was a close personal friend of Chief Minister T'Pau. Commander T'Lar may be young and relatively inexperienced, but she is far from stupid. Opening fire on a ship containing both of us would be career suicide for any Vulcan officer."

The two civilians stared speechlessly at him. Gardner on the other hand, started chuckling. His chuckling escalated into a full throated laugh despite his obvious efforts to contain it. "Nice, Jon," he choked out. "And since Vulcans think we're all crazy anyway, and there's no telling what one of us is likely to do at any given moment, she would have had no choice but to back off." He wiped his eyes and gave Archer a conspiratorial smile.

Lawrence nodded judiciously. "I see. Well, given the circumstances I don't suppose that we can justifiably take you to task."

"Senator!" Olberman exclaimed. "Whatever clever excuses he might offer, the plain fact remains that we are currently in a state of hostility with the Vulcans."

"Of course not," Archer said, disgusted. "Why would you think that?"

Gardner pursed his lips and interlaced his fingers. "You mean that you've kissed and made up with that Vulcan commander already?"

Archer's lips twitched. "I recommend that you never use that idiom with T'Lar, Admiral," he said, fighting to contain a smile, "She might blow a gasket seal. But we managed to get everyone's feathers smoothed down. In fact, she just offered me full access to the Vulcan security database on the Romulan Star Empire. In return, I have invited her security officers to be present and assist us in the interrogation of our new prisoner."

Gardner looked like he wanted to lunge through the view screen. "Excellent." The controlled excitement in his voice seemed to infect the two civilians as well. Even Olberman un-stiffened a trifle. "That is... excellent work, Jon," Gardner went on. "Very well done."

"I can't take all the credit, Admiral," Archer said. He glanced at his First Officer. "Commander T'Pol is personally acquainted with a member of the Vulcan task force from her days with the Security Directorate. She was a major factor in negotiating this. Probably the deciding factor, frankly."

Gardner glanced over. "Well done, Commander." T'Pol inclined her head to acknowledge the praise. Gardner went on. "There were some who objected to your appointment to such a high rank immediately upon your joining Starfleet. Situations like this are the perfect counter-argument to those objections."

"I am honored," she murmured.

#

"You may rest assured, Mr Johansen," Senek told him. "Raijiin is under complete control."

"How?" Daniel wanted to know. "Leg irons? Drugs?"

Senek pursed his lips. "Her telepathic abilities are quite formidable, but she lacks experience in many areas. My own skills are sufficient to ensure that her behavior remains within acceptable parameters." Daniel looked doubtful.

"If he can't control her," Sehlra assured him, "we've already told her that she's going out the airlock. No warning, no mercy."

"She will harm no one aboard this ship," T'Riss said firmly. "She will be monitored constantly, and any cause for suspicion will result in summary execution. She will not be given the benefit of the doubt, Agent Senek's assurances notwithstanding."

Daniel sighed and nodded. "All right." He gave T'Riss a long look. "Since I'm up anyway, I'm going up to the control room to help get Jenrali get us underway. Want to come?"

"No," Sehlra countermanded. "I need her to secure the passenger's luggage and do the final pre-flight checks down here. You put this away," she handed Daniel his sword hilt first. He took it, looking embarrassed. "Then go on up to the bridge. I'm going to the engine room and stow the parts Commander Tucker sent over." Sehlra shot T'Riss a direct look. "And I need to have a talk with you when I get back, Crewman."

"Yes, ma'am," T'Riss said stiffly. Sehlra turned to head for engineering while Daniel padded up the ladder in pajamas and socks.

"We had better escort Crewman T'Riss," Senek suggested. "To avoid misunderstanding."

"Agreed," the scarred man… Llahir?… said. "I will lead." He set off abruptly without looking back to see if they followed. T'Riss noticed from the set of his shoulders and his stride that he appeared less than fully comfortable in Senek's presence.

To her surprise, the hatch opened before they reached it. Damin stood in the entryway watching warily until Llahir made a reassuring gesture. He stepped back to allow them entrance, but continued to eye T'Riss carefully. She swallowed her discomfort and followed Senek into the cargo hold with an impassive expression. After all, she was a fully authorized crew member acting under direct orders. She had every right and reason to be there.

Once through the entranceway she glanced around the space, noting that Raijiin had taken position as far away from the door as physically possible. T'Riss saw with a guilty twinge that the telepath still wore an expression of trepidation. She tried to tell herself that Raijiin deserved it after all she had done. Not only had she manipulated T'Riss into attacking Daniel to begin with, but when she melded with T'Riss to gain her sympathies she must have done something devious to her mind. The sympathy that T'Riss felt for the woman was inconceivable otherwise.

Or perhaps not.

_We are the same. She has been controlled…used… just as I have. She is _still_ being controlled. _T'Riss couldn't make eye contact with her. It brought back intolerable memories.

The other passengers were muttering among themselves and shooting nervous glances back and forth. After the incident involving the expulsion of the Orions T'Riss suspected that _Lerteiran's_ reputation as a passenger liner was in dire peril, primarily as a result of her own behavior.

"I am here to ensure that the baggage is properly stowed and secured," she announced. "Please retrieve any toiletries and other necessary items that you will require during the trip. The remainder of your possessions will be moved to secondary storage and sealed for the duration of the voyage."

Her words caused a brief scramble among all of the non-Vulcan passengers with the exception of Raijiin and Damin. She turned to the Betazoid and inquired, "Do you have any luggage that requires stowing?"

"Actually," he told her, "mine is already stowed. It has been since last time." He looked with amused resignation across the room at the bevy of ex-slavegirls. "As theirs should be if they had any sense, since Captain Jenrali is charging them by the kilogram for any extra mass above the standard weight allowance. But of course, once they were back on the station they suddenly thought of a hundred more things that they simply _had_ to take with them." T'Riss raised a brow and nodded.

Senek stepped forward. "There are three items to be placed in storage, one for each of us." He gestured at a large trunk and two duffle bags. "Our remaining possessions will stay here."

"Certainly," T'Riss said. She bent to pick up one of the duffle bags and paused. With her wrist broken she was going to have issues carrying the items. She transferred the first duffle bag to the shoulder of her injured arm and then picked up the second bag. "I will return shortly for the trunk." She paused and then announced to the room at large. "Be advised that secondary storage is kept at ship normal gravity and atmospheric pressure but the temperature is sub-freezing. If there are any items in your luggage that could be damaged by the cold you will need to advise ship's personnel." A burst of chattering followed her announcement, accompanied by the clinking of bottles and boxes.

When T'Riss returned from stowing the duffle bags she found Raijiin working with every evidence of concern to dress the minor cut on Senek's jaw. "It's only right," T'Riss heard her insist while applying disinfectant. "You were injured while defending me." Senek sat with a tolerant expression while she painted on tissue adhesive. "How did she do this, anyway? I never knew she carried a knife." The closing hatch jerked her attention around and she sent a glare toward T'Riss.

"You are mistaken," Llahir told her with an undeniable note of amusement in his voice. "It was not Crewman T'Riss. That Human boy did it with a sword after Senek broke the girl's wrist." Raijiin looked at him in disbelief.

"A… sword…?" she squeaked.

"Yes," T'Riss told her as she approached. "Daniel detected my distress through our betrothal bond. I regret to report that his anger momentarily overrode his self-discipline. Fortunately, no serious harm was done." She looked Raijiin in the eye. "I recognize the arrangement that has been made between the Security Directorate and the _Lerteiran _partnership. In response, I advise you to recognize that Daniel is my betrothed, with everything that implies. If you are not familiar with Vulcan biology and customs I suggest that you consult with your associates."

"We will provide her with a complete briefing, Crewman," Llahir told her seriously.

"Excellent." T'Riss turned toward the trunk and started examining it, weighing options for transporting it into the secondary storage area.

"I will assist you, Crewman T'Riss," Senek told her. He stood up, brushing Raijiin's hands aside. "It is only logical, since I was the cause of your injury."

"I contributed to the damage," Llahir spoke up unexpectedly. He came over. "The box is large enough to be an awkward burden for one. We will carry it while you direct its placement." He glanced at Raijiin quickly, as if assessing her reaction to his offer, then away. For some reason this caused the telepath to smile.

"As you wish," T'Riss said. 'If you will follow me, then." She turned toward the door.

"Wait!" Raijiin scrambled down from the secondary level bunk and trotted over to the trunk. "I just remembered. I was going to get my warmest robe out of there. These Andorians have no conception of proper heating. And that… woman," she winced, "acts like you're trying to steal her firstborn if you beg for a little extra heat."

"I cannot deny that the ship's temperature is somewhat cool," T'Riss acknowledged. "Please expedite your search. I have a great deal of additional baggage to move."

"I won't be long at all," Raijiin promised. She held her thumb against the trunk lock and the lid popped loose. Raijiin lifted it to reveal a dizzying spread of multi-colored silks, most of them either translucent or transparent. She reached for the end of the stack, muttering, "If I remember correctly, I put it on this end. It should be about halfway-." Raijiin froze for an instant and then yanked her expensive fabrics aside without a care, tossing them in a cloud across the floor. Her action exposed the tightly curled body of a small Vulcan boy. "Selim!" She scooped him up and rushed toward the nearest bunk.

T'Riss turned immediately toward the crowd that was closing in and raised her voice in a tone that she considered firm but polite. "STOP!" The mass of chattering courtesans froze in place, wide-eyed and completely immobile. Once she had their attention she continued more quietly, "The matter is under control. Please refrain from crowding the individuals that are providing assistance." The passengers backpedaled as one woman, never taking their eyes off T'Riss.

"He's not breathing!" Raijiin's voice rose in panic. "Senek! He's not breathing! DO SOMETHING!"

T'Riss strode to the comm and hit the button. "T'Riss to Sehlra, medical emergency in the passenger bay. Vulcan child. Male. Stowaway discovered in close quarters with no detectable respiration."

"Meet me in the medical bay. I will need help carrying the gear." T'Riss turned to survey the scene and found Senek competently performing rescue breathing on the child. He paused after two breaths and checked a pulse.

"He has a pulse," Senek informed them, making eye contact with T'Riss before resuming rescue breathing. Satisfied that the Vulcan agent knew what he was doing, T'Riss felt comfortable leaving.

"Acknowledged. T'Riss out." She hit the button again and headed for the hatch at a jog.

#

Archer stepped into the captain's mess, surprised to find the lights out. He fumbled along the bulkhead for the lighting controls, only to discover them inactive. "Crap." He turned to exit by the same door that he had used to enter and was abruptly blinded by a sudden flare as the lights all came on at once.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"

He spun and gaped at the sight of his command staff grinning in front of a hand painted banner. A triple decker cake sat on the table surmounted by a semi-melted model of the NX-01 built from cookie fragments and icing.

"But my birthday was three days ago," Archer protested.

"We know, Captain," Hoshi told him. "But you were in sickbay and it didn't seem like you would be in the mood for a party. So we decided to wait and have it now.

Archer looked around the room at the smiling faces. Hoshi, Malcolm in his dress uniform, Travis with a broad grin, T'Pol with her Vulcan dignity intact, but a suspicious glint of amusement in her eyes, and finally... Trip. His old friend stood propped against the bulkhead support adjacent to the viewing port, chewing his tongue with a noncommittal expression. But the coldness in his eyes had started to thaw, at least a little.

The captain moved forward, shaking hands and smiling. Cake slices and drinks were passed out along with pizza of various denominations. After an hour or so the group started trickling away. First Malcolm, as always. Then Hoshi and Travis. Finally T'Pol left to assume command of the bridge, leaving Archer and Trip sitting alone together for the first time in more days than Jon wanted to count.

"Thanks, Trip." Archer was the first one to break the silence.

Trip shrugged. "Hoshi did the planning and chef did the cake. All I did was print the banner."

Archer smiled wanly. "I appreciate it. But that wasn't what I was talking about. I want to thank you and T'Pol for giving me a second chance."

Trip turned to look out the port. "We didn't give it to you, you earned it, Jon. Phlox told us what you had to go through."

"It's not done yet, Trip," Archer said seriously. "I owe you a lot more than an apology. I want to earn your friendship back." Trip sighed.

"Don't worry about that, Jon. Just concentrate on being the captain this crew deserves. That's all I ask."

"I'm going to try to do both," Archer insisted.

Trip drained his glass and stood up. "Up to you. Right now I need to get back to work. Those refugees are griping and growling about the accommodations. I need to install extra showers and heads and figure out some way for them to have a little privacy."

Archer stood up as well. "I'm sure you'll work out something effective." He hesitated. "Trip, I really hope you will reconsider resigning. If you don't want to stay on _Enterprise_ there are plenty of other options. For both of you. But please, don't let my stupidity drive you away from Starfleet."

Trip ran a hand through his hair. "Jon," he started, then hesitated. Finally he said, "It's like this. T'Pol and I have talked. After everything you just went through, it's only fair to give you some time and see how things work out. I'll make a final decision by the time we get to Earth, okay?"

"That's as much as I could ask for." Archer felt a weight leave his shoulders.

#

Llahir caught Raijiin as she backed fearfully away from the boy, offering her support that she did not refuse. Agent Senek delivered another breath and the boy gasped spasmodically before torturously and noisily beginning to breathe on his own. Senek then placed his hands on Selim's face at the proper contact points for a meld and bent his head. Llahir dropped his hand to the bare skin on Raijiin's arm and offered a reassuring squeeze. He usually felt helpless when such reassurance was required. His telepathic insensitivity handicapped him in that regard. A normal Vulcan would have been able to feel Raijiin's distress. Fortunately, telepathy was unnecessary. It was obvious that she cared about the boy. She was making no pretense of Vulcan calm now.

Senek released his touch and stepped back, looking frustrated. "He is deep in a healing trance." Raijiin took a shaky and tearful breath. " No doubt the boy instinctively fell into the trance when his oxygen became depleted."

"Then all is well," Llahir offered. "He is now in an oxygen rich environment. Once his brain receives sufficient oxygen he should awaken naturally."

"I fear not," Senek sighed. "The boy has been oxygen deprived too long for one of his youth. An adult would have been able to cope. But this child lacked the reserves of strength to endure, and now he is too weak for his system to repair the damage caused by oxygen deprivation. Unless he is brought back to consciousness immediately, restoring his body's functions will become a moot point. Irreversible brain damage will be unpreventable."

"Then bring him back." Llahir stepped forward with his hand raised. Senek caught his arm.

"The boy is insensate. He would not even feel it," the older man told him regretfully. "Otherwise I would have already applied the treatment." The child's tortured and wheezing respirations filled the chamber. The rest of the passengers were grouped together on the other side of the room whispering to each other as if they feared T'Riss even when she wasn't in the room.

"What treatment? What are you talking about? Why are you not DOING something?" Raijiin's voice was swiftly getting louder and closer to panic.

Damin stepped forward and quietly explained to her, "The standard method for rousing a Vulcan from a healing trance is to administer a series of brisk slaps to the face. Apparently Selim is too far gone for that."

"No." Raijiin turned cold and hard. "Senek. You must meld with him. Hold him here and support him. You can do that; I know you can. I have researched Vulcan abilities. The Andorian woman will be here soon with oxygen and stimulants."

"I tried." Senek rubbed his eyes. "The boy rejected me," he admitted. "He distrusts me and refused my attempts at connection." Raijiin stared at him for a moment, then lunged for the bunk and placed her hands on each of Selim's cheeks. "No! If he dies while you are in contact you may not be able to withdraw in time," protested Senek.

"Shut up," she told him through her teeth. Raijiin closed her eyes and took on an expression of intense concentration. "Damin. Help me… he is so weak…" Tears began to run freely down her cheeks. Llahir stiffened against an unaccountable urge to take her into his arms and wipe them away. "I know he will let me in if I can reach him, but he is so weak. You have to help me!"

The Betazoid moved over to the bunk and squatted down, staring intently at the boy, but to Llahir's surprise made no attempt to touch either Selim or Raijiin. No one moved or made a sound while Llahir counted 134 seconds. Then Raijiin's lips parted and she whispered in a barely audible voice, "Yes, Selim, it's me. I'm here."

Llahir observed with interest. He concluded that she must be unconsciously verbalizing the telepathic conversation. A brief pause, then, "It's all right; his name is Damin. He's a friend. I trust him. You can trust him too. You need to hang on to us. Let us help you." It might have been Llahir's imagination, but it seemed to him that the boy relaxed a fraction, that his breathing became less labored.

The hatch opened and Llahir looked up to see the Andorian engineer come through carrying two large cases. She was followed by T'Riss with an oxygen tank and mask in hand. The two Vulcan men moved quickly to take the equipment while Sehlra closed in on the boy. "What are they doing?" she demanded. Senek explained, quietly and quickly. The Andorian nodded and fitted an oxygen mask to the boy's face without dislodging Raijiin's hands. She glanced at the Betazoid several times and looked fascinated for some reason, but made no comment. Perhaps, Llahir speculated, the fact that Damin could make telepathic contact without touching his subject intrigued her. She retrieved a device from her medical kit and clamped it to one of the child's fingers.

"Blood oxygen levels still too low," the Andorian muttered. "Heart not beating fast enough." She reached for an ampoule and attached it to a hypo. "Damin. Pin him. This might cause reflex spasms." The Betazoid obediently reached his arms across the boy's torso and legs. The Andorian applied the hypo to Selim's neck and suddenly his back arched. Breath whistled into his lungs in a screech that was painful to hear. Raijiin gave a tiny scream in response and jerked backward. Llahir sprang forward and caught her, preventing her from falling to the deck. Damin winced but held his position.

Selim started coughing and gagging. Sehlra rolled him onto his side and lifted the mask. "Spit it out, boy," she ordered, holding a piece of cloth under his mouth. Selim hacked out a small amount of dusty phlegm and started breathing more easily. The Andorian removed the mask and let him return to the pillow. "Rest, boy," she told him gently. "Just lay there and breathe. Don't move or talk. I will get you some water."

Sehlra moved toward the sanitary facilities and Raijiin eagerly pulled away from Llahir to lean over the boy. He followed, bemused, to observe and offer support if needed. She stroked the child's hair tenderly and murmured, "Oh, Selim. What am I going to do with you?" The boy's mouth worked, but no sound came out. He was pale, his lips cracked from dehydration, but as Llahir watched he smiled and tried to say something to Raijiin. "No. Hush," Raijiin put a finger on his lips,"Don't try to talk. Be quiet and rest. You're going to be fine. We can talk after you recover." She leaned over to give him a kiss on the forehead just as the Andorian woman returned with a cup of water. Raijiin took the cup and helped Selim sit up. "Sip. Slowly."

Llahir watched her hovering. Plainly Raijiin had established a strong emotional connection to this child, a child to whom she had absolutely no familial relation or duty. Being unmated and childless, and until recently with a very low probability of changing that state of affairs, Llahir was disconcerted. Yet he could not deny to himself that there was something inherently appealing about watching the two of them together.

"We need to get him to the medical bay." The Andorian woman's voice broke into Llahir's thoughts. "Move aside, woman," she ordered Raijiin flatly. "I will carry him. T'Riss, Damin, the two of you bring the gear."

"I can carry him," Raijiin insisted indignantly. She stopped abruptly at twin glares from the Andorian and Crewman T'Riss.

"You. Stay. Here." Each word out of the Andorian's mouth was bitten off with a snap. "Understood? That was the agreement. Step one foot out of this cargo bay and your next step will be out the airlock."

Raijiin stiffened and Llahir spoke up in her defense. These women were unreasonably hostile, but an agreement had been reached. "Threats are not required. She is merely concerned about the boy. But she will remain here as agreed. Senek and I will see to it." He gave Raijiin a warning look and touched her arm, hoping she would read his unspoken desire for her to let the matter drop.

Apparently it worked, for nothing further was said as Sehlra carefully gathered the small boy in her arms. Despite her gruff words and tone, she handled him as gently as if he were her own infant. "Come along you two," she barked, and headed for the exit. The child's first words since being revived were a vigorous protest of his separation from Raijiin as Sehlra exited the cargo bay with him. He was certainly a resilient little creature, reflected Llahir.

Damin looked back over his shoulder and offered a smile to Raijiin. "Don't worry. I'll keep you informed." Then he took off after the two women, balancing the oxygen tank on one shoulder and a case full of medical supplies on the other.

#

T'Riss followed closely behind Sehlra as she started up the ladder with Selim cradled across one arm. Her offer to assist the older woman was met with a dismissive snort, but she made sure to keep careful watch – ready at any time to intercept either or both of them in case of a fall.

Her precautions were unnecessary. Sehlra climbed the ladder with practiced ease and swung off to head for the medical bay. T'Riss made haste to leave the access way in her turn and bent to relieve Damin of the second medical case. He smiled gratefully. "Accept my thanks, Crewman T'Riss," the Betazoid told her in a formal tone. "Ascending this ladder without using my hands was proving to be a challenging exercise in balance, even under Andorian gravity."

T'Riss gave him a tolerant look. "It was by no means required that you bring both items at once."

"No point in wasting time," Damin retorted, repossessing the case and heading for the medical bay, "Sehlra might need these." He sped up his steps.

By the time they reached the medical bay Selim was stretched out on the single biobed and Sehlra was running diagnostic scans one after another.

"You'll be fine, boy," she was telling Selim. "Just lay still and rest yourself. Let that shot of tri-ox take effect. We can discuss the matter of you sneaking aboard once you get back on your feet." Sehlra looked up and smiled as Damin came through the door, ignoring T'Riss who followed close behind.

"Whatever you did for him seems to have done wonders," she told him admiringly. Her eyes lingered.

Damin set his burdens on the deck next to the storage cabinets. "I would love to take the credit," he smiled in return."But Raijiin did the work. All I did was reinforce her."

Sehlra's face darkened and her antenna twisted in the manner that T'Riss had come to recognize meant disgust. "That whore..."

"She's my friend," a weak voice spoke up indignantly. The three adults turned their attention to the biobed, where Selim had regained consciousness. The little boy glared up at Sehlra and told her, "Raijiin is my friend! Don't call her names!"

The Andorian's face smoothed over. "All right then, youngster. I won't. How do you feel? Still thirsty?"

"No," Selim denied. "I am well. I want to see Raijiin!" He struggled to sit up. Sehlra reached over to push him back down.

"You can go back to the cargo hold soon, but I want you to stay here until I'm sure there aren't any problems." She turned her head. "You know Damin, right?" The man stepped up to the bed and smiled down at the boy. Selim eyed him cautiously but nodded.

"Raijiin told me that you are her friend." His tone was suspicious. "If you are her friend, then take me back to her!"

"I try to be Raijiin's friend," Damin said. "I'd like to be your friend, too. I told Raijiin that I would let her know how you're doing."

"I am well!" Selim fought to get loose from Sehlra's grip. "I am not a criminal! You have no right to keep me from Raijiin!" He glared at Sehlra. "You want to hurt her! I heard you!"

Sehlra tried another tactic. "How about this? Damin can stay here with you while T'Riss and I finish our work. Then if you're still all right he can take you back to the cargo hold."

"No! I don't trust him either. I saw him with you, when you talked about hurting her! I think you are both lying! He is just pretending to be her friend!" The boy starting kicking.

T'Riss stepped forward. "Selim. This behavior dishonors both you and your family. It must cease. What would Commander T'Lar say if she saw you behaving in this manner?"

"I don't care!" Selim burst out in a truculent voice. "Besides, you have no authority over me. You are in disgrace!"

"All right. That's it. Damin, pin him," Sehlra ordered. Damin grabbed the boy, who fought back tooth and nail. Sehlra turned around with a hypo and caught one of Selim's flailing legs, injecting a swift-acting sedative into the boy's thigh. A moment later peace had been restored.

"I'm too old for this," Sehlra panted. She turned to Damin. "Thank you for your assistance," she said breathlessly, and then paused, studying him as if she'd just realized his potential usefulness. "Would you mind watching the boy while T'Riss and I finish up what we were doing? If his vitals still look good and nothing else happens he can go back to the cargo once he wakes up."

The Betazoid smiled a sincere smile. "Anything to be useful to you, my dear." Sehlra's gaze lingered on his face a bit longer than was decent in T'Riss's opinion, and she was still breathing heavily for no obvious reason. She was obviously infatuated with the man. The idea made T'Riss uncomfortable for more reasons than she cared to count.

"In the mean time I am going to the galley for a beverage. Would either of you like anything?" Damin offered.

"Give me a moment to finish up here and I'll go with you," replied Sehlra. She turned to address T'Riss, suddenly all business and not breathless in the least. "Stay here until Damin returns to relieve you with the boy. Then you can finish with the luggage. After that, meet me in the engine room. "

T'Riss straightened, Sehlra's military tone triggering long ingrained reflexes. "Acknowledged," she told the engineer.

#

Sehlra stepped to the bed where the Vulcan boy lay with IV fluids running. She pulled a belt from around his waist and set it aside for later study. Hung on the belt was a device of some kind. She took several minutes to inspect it. T'Riss stood silently beside her, offering no insight. By the way its transmissions were messing with the instruments in her sickbay Sehlra suspected that the device had something to do with the reason why there were no Vulcan gunships pursuing them. Evidently no one had any idea that the child was missing―not yet, anyway.

He had certainly thrown a fit about being separated from Raijiin. The bitch must have done something to him. Was there no end to the woman's scheming? What could this boy possibly be to her?

Finally leaving T'Riss standing by the boy's bedside, for some inexplicable reason at formal Vulcan parade rest, Sehlra turned out of _Lerteiran's_ tiny sickbay to find Damin waiting for her in the companionway. He was wearing an insignia-free green ship's coverall similar to the ones she, Daniel, and Jenrali usually wore on duty and had his long black curls tied in a tail at the nape of his neck.

Where had he gotten that coverall? Had he borrowed it from Daniel or had it specially made for the trip? She couldn't tell, but it was certainly more practical than his usual attire. A memory came to mind of the night when he'd come to fight fires in the engine room dressed in nothing but a silk dressing gown and a wisp of black lace.

She caught the thought and stuffed it. He gave her an expectant look. She said nothing, turning past him to walk down to the galley. He followed her smoothly, two steps behind. Arriving at her goal, she pulled a mug from one side of the cabinet and her chocolate from the other. After filling the mug a third full with sweetened condensed zabathu milk and a third with water she took a knife and began shaving slivers of bitter chocolate into the mixture. Damin still hadn't said anything. He was waiting across the room with a half-smile on his too-beautiful face, making no attempt to leave, to take charge of the situation, or to push her into discussion to get it over with. She'd never met a man capable of such behavior.

Her eyes were on the fist-sized lump of chocolate in her hand as she whittled away at it, but her senses were acutely aware of Damin. He smelled of exotic cologne. It seemed as if she could feel his dark pupil-less gaze on the back of her head. She knew that she was only imagining it, but she could have sworn that she could also sense his intense desire to please her.

"So…who is this suicidal child and why did he pick my cargo bay to suffocate himself?" she asked him casually.

Damin had melded with the boy. If he was determined to be useful to her he could start by giving her the information she needed.

"He's Commander T'Lar's younger brother. I've met him before on _Sehlat_," replied Damin.

Sehlra closed her eyes. _By the Mother's Holy Teats._ She took a deep breath, not certain that she wanted to know the rest. Then she put her chocolate in the warmer.

"And what is his connection to Raijiin?"

"He was taken from _The Plains of Gol_ after the murder of his parents and held on the station in a brothel for months. Raijiin took care of him there…protected him." Damin's voice softened. He obviously felt sympathy for the boy. "She's done nothing to him, if that's what you're thinking. He loves her. It's that simple. She was leaving and he wanted to follow her, but something happened and he was locked in the trunk too long."

The warmer pinged. Sehlra reached in and grasped the steaming mug. She pulled it out, retrieved a spoon from a drawer, stirred it. The rich odor of chocolate filled the galley, calming her. Sehlra studied Damin's face over the edge of her mug. He looked like he was being honest with her. She wanted to believe him. He was certainly in a position to know the truth.

"What do you think will happen when we notify his sister of his whereabouts? Will she pursue legal action? Rescind our preferred trade status? Maybe even attack us?" Damin looked surprised.

"Doubtful. We had nothing to do with the boy's presence aboard and we're operating under the auspices of the Vulcan Security Directorate this trip. We should just have Senek call T'Lar and tell her what happened. He doesn't blame you, and there is no reason for her to blame you. Why would you think she might?"

Sehlra shrugged. "No particular reason. I just don't trust Vulcans," she replied. "Too hypocritical and unpredictable. One minute they're all frigid and logical and the next minute they're trying to blow you out of space just for being in the wrong place at the wrong time."

Damin raised an annoyingly Vulcan-looking brow at her. "That hasn't been my experience. I find that Vulcans for the most part are set in their ways. It's very easy to anticipate what they will do."

"But you can read minds," countered Sehlra. She took a sip of her chocolate. It was perfect, but she barely tasted it. His face held her attention.

Damin tipped his head. "True. But sometimes anticipating what someone will do has nothing to do with telepathy." He took three steps toward her in the small galley. Without being consciously aware of doing so, Sehlra backed away a half step, then another. Before she knew it her back was against the cabinets. There was nowhere else to go. He had her trapped.

As soon as that thought registered in her mind Damin stopped in his tracks and backed off a step. He smiled reassuringly. Sehlra regarded him with suspicion. "You're reading me right now, aren't you?" she demanded. Damin's smile disappeared. He looked hurt, his eyes shining liquidly, sincerely.

"It's not a conscious thing, Sehlra. I have to constantly block what I receive from people around me and sometimes emotions get through, especially when they're very strong. I'm sorry if it makes you uncomfortable, but I'm not trying to read you. I promise."

Sehlra swallowed. All the time? He heard everything? Felt everything? She felt her face grow warm. She looked away, down into her mug, and took a healthy swallow. The chocolate was beginning to relax her. Maybe it would knock her out before she died of embarrassment.

Smooth pale hands covered both of her calloused blue ones as they gripped the mug, and she looked up to find herself eye-to eye with Damin. He maintained eye contact with her as he brought the other side of her mug to his lips and took a drink. Lowering the mug, he slowly licked the foamy moustache from his upper lip. Her eyes followed his tongue, and she found herself wondering what Damin-flavored chocolate would taste like.

Without speaking, Damin lifted the mug and brought it to her lips again. He tipped it, and she took a messy gulp, helpless to refuse him. He caught the drip from her chin on the tips of two fingers, placed the cup on the counter behind her, and then ran his fingertips, warm, wet, and smelling richly of chocolate, across her lower lip. She closed her eyes, opened her mouth, and took his fingers in to the second knuckle, suckling. She felt him shudder, heard his soft moan, and she was gone.

Selhra reached blindly for his head and bent it down for the _tlasp_, touching forehead to forehead, and his desire filled her, more than doubled by her own, feeding on the heat between them. Someone whimpered; she wasn't certain who. Her hands smoothed his shoulders, then his back, then his firm young backside to pull him hard against her body. At the same time his hands weren't idle. She could feel them doing their own eager exploration. His tongue explored her mouth, a strangely alien concept, this kissing she'd read about, but far from unpleasant. How was he doing that and maintaining the _tlasp_? She realized then that although her antennae were no longer in contact with his skin, the shared sensation was the same, an advantage she hadn't anticipated. To maintain the _tlasp_ during the act of mating required the flexibility of youth. She'd had neither in recent years. But with Damin… Sweet Mother, the possibilities!

"Well, that didn't take long." Jenrali's amused comment effectively dumped a heaping bucketful of wet snow on the proceedings. Sehlra let go and jumped back, rapping her head smartly on the cabinet behind her. She caught a flash of annoyance from Damin before he severed the link between them and turned to face Jenrali with a bland expression on his face. Sehlra gathered her wits, rubbed her scalp briefly with a grimace, and then glared at Jenrali's dangerously toothy grin. When he just stood there without apology, facing off in stupid male fashion with Damin, she grunted in irritation, groped behind her to grab her mug, and then pushed between them.

"I'm gonna finish stowing those injectors and then get some rack time," she muttered on her way out.

#

Jenrali eyed Damin critically. With that coverall on all he needed was a haircut to look ready to work for a living, but Jenrali still couldn't fathom Sehlra's claims about the Betazoid's real age and his actual profession. Damin just looked like a skinny little man-whore to him. There was no accounting for appearances.

"What game are you playing dressed like that?" Jenrali asked, jerking his chin at the young man's coverall.

"No game," replied Damin. "With Daniel so recently injured, and now T'Riss as well, I thought Sehlra might need an extra pair of hands in the engine room, so I changed."

"Looks like you thought she needed some other things, too. Are your services part of what we got when we negotiated this transport contract with the Vulcans?" asked Jenrali, deliberately blunt. Damin's eyes narrowed and his jaw tightened, but he didn't rise to the bait.

"A reasonable question, I suppose, considering my recent history," he said. "But no, my responsibilities to the Vulcan Security Directorate ended when I brokered the transport contract. My time with Sehlra is my own."

"I see." Jenrali crossed both arms over his chest and studied the Betazoid. Damin met his eyes and waited. "Far be it from me to ruin whatever it is you two have got going," Jenrali continued finally. "The Mother knows Sehlra gets little enough pleasure in her life as it is. But let me tell you this…" He lifted one finger and pressed it into the center of the slender man's chest. "Sehlra isn't just a business partner to me…she's family. Closer than a sister. So if you ever hurt her you will live to regret it for the rest of your prematurely shortened life. Is that clear?"

"As crystal, Captain," replied Damin. "You can depend on me, sir. I'll take good care of her." His tone was firm but respectful. Jenrali blinked. For a second he felt like a father giving a betrothal blessing, but only for a second. Sehlra was a grown woman. Her choice of mate was none of his business, and Damin would certainly be just a passing entertainment.

"You'd better," he grunted. Then he shouldered past Damin to the stasis unit to choose a meal. "You can go now," he called over his shoulder. "When you see Sehlra remind her that she goes back on duty in eight hours, sleep or no sleep."

"Yes, sir," Damin acknowledged, and made his escape.

#

"You seem to have neglected your beverage," T'Riss pointed out to Damin as he came through the entrance to the medical bay. The Betazoid looked startled.

"Yes, I did." He laughed quietly. "Other matters distracted me. It's not important. How is the little truant?" He glanced at the biobed.

"He remains sedated," T'Riss informed him. "I anticipate that he will remain in this condition for the remainder of this duty shift, if not longer. He should not give you any difficulty." She made sure that Damin was aware of the locations of all emergency equipment and left to resume her duties.

Raijiin shot her a reproachful look when she entered the cargo bay. Senek was not present, having been summoned to the control room – presumably for the purpose of notifying Commander T'Lar that her brother was aboard.

The remaining items of luggage were dealt with in a logical and efficient fashion. She was gratified to note that the other passengers seemed uncharacteristically silent and compliant. They even made a point of bringing their bags forward and then backing quickly out of her way. It was most helpful.

By the time she finished, her wrist was aching intensely. T'Riss concentrated briefly, focusing on the proper Discipline. Endorphins flowed and the discomfort subsided to a point where it was possible to ignore. Without bothering to offer any gesture or word of departure, T'Riss exited the cargo hold and set out for the engine room in compliance with Sehlra's orders.

T'Riss found the older woman studying readouts on the side of the main impulse reactor. She did not look up when T'Riss arrived, so the Vulcan stood quietly nearby and waited to be noticed. After several moments she offered, "Crewman T'Riss, reporting as ordered."

Sehlra still did not look up. "Are you now? Good. Come over here and look at this readout." T'Riss obediently walked over and bent to examine the display panel.

A sharp pain flared between her shoulder blades while her face met the display screen with considerable force. Sehlra's elbow dug deeply into the first lateral node of her fourth thoracic cluster. The severe pain thus induced handicapped her, but was less important than the temporary paralysis triggered by the maneuver. She went limp from the waist down.

Meanwhile, the Andorian's other hand seized T'Riss by the right wrist and applied thumb pressure between the fourth and fifth metacarpal nerves while simultaneously restricting circulation at her wrist. She twisted the arm behind T'Riss' back and leaned on it, using her body weight to reinforce the pressure on both attack points. T'Riss still had the use of her free arm, but with her left wrist broken and the rest of her body inert it was of dubious benefit.

"Don't bother trying, girl," Sehlra told her in a conversational voice. "I was handling Vulcan prisoners before you were out of diapers. We are going to have a talk, you and me. And I want you to listen to me very carefully."

"This is not necessary," T'Riss told her breathlessly. "I will certainly listen without coercion."

"Maybe," Sehlra allowed. "But would you pay attention as closely? You need to understand something, girl. Because if you don't pay attention, I will have to hurt you. And you need to understand and _believe me_ when I tell you that I am able and willing to hurt you."

"I understand. I believe you," T'Riss swore sincerely. Sehlra released her and backed away, leaving the young Vulcan to slump to the deck on numb legs. She struggled to a sitting position using her left arm and braced her back against the reactor, trying to estimate how long it would take for sensation to return.

"Crewman T'Riss," Sehlra said sternly, "you have been exhibiting an insubordinate attitude since your arrival aboard this ship. You are the most junior crew member aboard, and as such you command nothing at all. You are not even a partner. But you have been behaving as if you were a senior officer aboard a warship." She glared and T'Riss winced. "You. Do. Not. Attack. Passengers. Do you hear me?" Sehlra waited.

T'Riss firmed her chin. "I thought that-"

Sehlra smacked her. T'Riss' head rocked back against the reactor. The impact of the older woman's palm was negligible, but the psychological effect was massive. T'Riss stared in shock.

"You are not here to think, fool," Sehlra scolded. "You are here to work and obey. And even if you had reason to believe that something was wrong, _it was not your place to deal with it._" She waited for it to sink in. "You should have reported it to Daniel, and let him report it to Jenrali. You, the lowest person on the ship, do not have authority to piss without permission. Do you hear me? It is not your place to do _anything_ without orders. If you see Raijiin outside the cargo hold, you DO NOT break her neck or even her legs. You report it. You do not threaten, you do not attack, you do not take it upon yourself to usurp any authority on this ship or I will thaw your backside as if you were one of my own girls. Do I make myself clear?"

T'Riss locked her jaws together. "Perfectly clear," she managed. Sehlra relaxed. "However...," T'Riss ventured. The Andorian tensed again.

"However... what?" she growled.

T'Riss reached back and worked her way up the side of the reactor to a standing position on shaking legs. "Daniel is my betrothed. I will protect him if he is attacked. I will seek no one's permission before doing so." She raised her chin and deliberately met Sehlra's eyes.

Sehlra softened. "That's different. Fair enough." She firmed her lips again. "But for everything else, you remember what I said. I don't want to have this conversation again. Now, take over here for the rest of the watch. All you need to do is keep an eye on things. If something goes wrong, call me instantly. Don't try to fix it yourself. Call me."

"Yes, ma'am. I wish to report something," T'Riss told her.

"What?"

"Immediately prior to my altercation I was proceeding toward the galley. Daniel has not eaten today. He has also been medicated, and should be fed and then put to bed as soon as possible." T'Riss watched Sehlra hang her head and rub her eyes.

"Between that boy, Jenrali, this engine, and now you, I am almost starting to miss active duty." She sighed. "All right. I will chase the foolish child down to the galley and then shoo him off to his bunk. No doubt you will check on him when you finish your shift?"

"Of course," T'Riss agreed. Sehlra flipped a hand in acknowledgment and headed for the ladder.

#

"_Commander T'Lar,"_ the comm unit on the wall interrupted her evening meal. _"I have an incoming message from Agent Senek aboard the Andorian trader Lerteiran. It is designated urgent." _

T'Lar put down her bread tongs, slid her chair back, and reluctantly gave up trying to finish her meal without interruption. "Commander T'Lar here," she spoke into the comm unit. "Pipe the message to the officer's dining room."

"_Commander? Senek here. Your brother stowed away in Raijiin's luggage. He suffered minor distress due to asphyxiation, but prompt application of oxygen and stimulants have restored him to optimum physical condition." _

T'Lar felt her face freeze into a shield of impassivity. Fortunately, she was eating a delayed meal this evening and the room was empty. No one was present to witness her distress.

"Agent Senek." She took a deep breath. "Is there any possibility of returning Selim to the station?"

"_I regret that it is not feasible, Commander. Even if Captain Jenrali were amenable to the idea, which I doubt, we cannot afford the delay. Our travel schedule has been calculated very carefully." _

Agent Senek was tactfully reminding her that delivering Llahir to the Security Directorate took absolute priority over returning a mischievous child to his guardian. A guardian, T'Lar chided herself, who had no business permitting the boy to wander off in the first place.

However, one imperative question needed to be answered immediately. "What punitive action does Captain Jenrali intend to take against Selim?"

"_None,"_ Senek replied, and T'Lar came near collapsing in relief._ "But he demands full passenger fare for Selim and requires that our party assume joint custody of the boy for the duration of the voyage. I have agreed to these terms." _

"My clan will reimburse the directorate for any expenses Selim may incur," T'Lar told him. "I will contact the Vulcan embassy on Risa and arrange to have Selim met on arrival. I am in your debt, Agent Senek."

"_There is no debt, Commander. I am here to serve. Live long and prosper. Senek out." _

Alone and unseen, T'Lar permitted herself the indulgence of rubbing her aching brows. She sat keyed the comm again and asked her chief of security to join her, then sat back down at the table. T'Lar refilled her tea and pushed her plate back. She was sipping it thoughtfully when Centurion Solis arrived. He seated himself at her gesture and politely accepted a cup.

"Centurion, we find ourselves in a logistical quandry." Solis looked properly attentive, of course. T'Lar put the cup down and told him, "The Humans have invited us to send a maximum of two representatives to observe and assist them in the interrogation of their Romulan prisoner." Solis straightened in sudden interest, a gleam in his eye. T'Lar nodded. "As your logic will certainly make plain to you, this opportunity must not be squandered."

"Indeed not, Commander," Solis said emphatically. "Especially given our current strained relations with the Humans. In addition to the value of the intelligence gained, which may well be considerable, it will be an opportunity to re-establish rapport with our ally."

"Unfortunately," T'Lar told him, "_Enterprise_ is under orders to transport the Romulan commander back to Earth as soon as possible. Quite understandable, of course. There is also the issue of the station refugees aboard _Enterprise_, who are growing increasingly anxious to return to their homes—or at least to begin their journeys homeward. Meanwhile _Sehlat_ must resume searching deeper into the Orion Syndicate in an attempt to locate more survivors from the _Plains of Gol._ The _Le'Matya_ will remain here to guard the medical ships." She paused and eyed him. "As you can well imagine, an experienced interrogator will be required aboard _Sehlat_ during our ongoing investigation."

Solis nodded thoughtfully. "In this situation I believe the most logical course of action will be to assign myself and crewman Jowan to _Enterprise_. Centurion T'Iril can be transferred from _Le'Matya_ to assume my shipboard duties on a temporary basis while I am away. If the other ships are to remain in the vicinity of the station, _Le'Matya's_ assistant security chief should be able to manage matters well enough."

T'Lar relaxed. "I confess to relief, Centurion Solis," she told him. "I had hoped that you would be willing to volunteer for this mission, but I was reluctant to order anyone to spend an extended amount of time aboard a Human vessel. Under the circumstances there is a very real possibility that you might be forced to remain aboard until _Enterprise_ reaches Earth."

"If so," Solis told her with dignity, "we will cope with the situation. There are diplomatic personnel at the Human embassy who have been on Earth for decades. I believe Commander T'Pol has served on _Enterprise_ for more than four years. If others can endure it, we can endure it. We are trained and experienced officers. Our people aboard the Orion station endured slavery and torture; surely an extended visit to a Human ship cannot compare to that."

"We can certainly hope not," T'Lar said.

#

It was a small, nondescript shop located in the slums of the main port on a backwater trading colony deep inside the Orion Syndicate. A man in a hooded cloak walked through the front door. He glanced casually around and, seeing no customers (the usual state of affairs) he gave the proprietor a slight nod and proceeded to the back room.

Once there, he threw back his hood to reveal the distinctive ears and eyebrows of a Vulcan. The man paused briefly beside a workstation, inserted a data cartridge, and pressed two keys. He then withdrew the data cartridge and snapped it in half. The chemical mixture embedded in the cover of cartridge ignited on contact with air and began to glow. Three seconds later it began flaming. The Vulcan held the burning cartridge in his gloved fingers until he was sure that no detectable trace of information remained. Then he dropped it in the disposal slot and walked out.

In another place, on the other side of the same backwater colony, a concealed transceiver emitted a seven millisecond burst along a tight beam. There were no other ships or worlds along the route of the signal to intercept it aside from the intended target.

On the bridge of a concealed ship holding position on the edge of the Orion Syndicate farthest away from Vulcan space an indicator light began blinking on a communications console. The communications officer reported the incoming message to the duty officer, who duly forwarded the encrypted note to her commanding officer in his office.

The commanding officer, who also bore the distinctive characteristics of Vulcan ancestry, ran the brief message through a decryption algorithm. The words formed on screen caused a most un-Vulcan expression of rage to darken his face.

**THE HALF-BREED LIVES**

**THE RAPTOR FALLS IN FLAME**

**THE HAWKMISTRESS IS BOUND**

#

Daniel yawned widely and stretched. He smiled again at how good it felt to be able to do that without pain. He watched with mild interest while Senek signed off on the payment for the Vulcan kid's passage and sealed it with his retinal scan.

"Remember what I said," Jenrali warned. "If that child gets loose and damages anything I won't bother billing your government. I will let Sehlra take it out of your hides."

"Believe him," Daniel told him in amusement, "he means it."

"I never doubted it," Senek assured them. "Rest assured. Selim will be watched most carefully, but I do not anticipate trouble. He stowed away because he wanted to be with Raijiin. Since Raijiin will be staying in the cargo hold, so will Selim."

"He had better," Sehlra's irritated voice emerged from the ladder well, followed by her head and shoulders. She looked over the control room and snapped, "Are you done with your snack, old man? Daniel needs to eat something and get to his bunk. In case it slipped your mind, that girl broke his back in bed last night and he just came out of surgery less than two hours ago." Senek's eyebrows shot scalp-ward but no one felt like enlightening him.

"I hadn't forgotten," Jenrali grumbled. "The lad wanted to stay up here for a while."

"I couldn't sleep, Sehlra. Honestly," Daniel told her. "After all that adrenaline there was no way I could have gotten any rest."

"You will now," she commanded him. "But first, get down to the galley and eat something. Move."

"Yes, ma'am." Daniel levered himself up and headed for the ladder. Sehlra obligingly moved back down to make room, preceding him back to the galley. Only after he was up and moving did Daniel realize how tired he really was. The surgery, then the stress of confronting Senek over T'Riss, then the additional excitement of finding the stowaway had each bitten a chunk out of his energy. He barely made it down the ladder. By the time he reached the galley he was propping one hand against the wall to stay upright.

Sehlra looked up from the storage compartment and pointed at a chair. "Sit." He obeyed without argument. She slid a package of pre-prepared stew into the warmer and keyed it for 30 seconds. The machine chimed and Sehlra popped the package open, stuck a spoon in it, and plopped it in front of Daniel. "Eat."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Can I trust you to clean up your own mess?"

"Yes, ma'am," he muttered between bites.

"Will you go straight to your quarters after this?"

A sigh. "Yes, ma'am."

"All right then." Sehlra rubbed the bases of her antennae tiredly. "I'm going back down to the medical bay to check on that child. Then I think I might try to hit the bunk myself."

Daniel nodded. _Have fun. Tell Damin hello,_ he thought. But he was careful not to voice the thought. She was already in a touchy mood. He watched her walk out and noticed that her step lightened noticeably as she entered the passageway. Daniel grinned and finished his stew, dropping the dishes into the recycler and wiping down every surface he could find. Sehlra was a real stickler about sticky fingerprints.

Daniel dogged the hatch to his quarters behind him with more effort than he could ever remember needing. He shuffled toward his bunk and peeled his socks off. A groaning roll got him blanket wrapped and darkness descended with a thump.

#

T'Pol stood at dignified readiness between Captain Archer and Lieutenant Reed just inside the main port airlock. The shuttle carrying the Vulcan security team from _Sehlat_ was completing final docking procedures and confirming atmospheric integrity. She glanced aside at her companions. Both the captain and Mr. Reed seemed tense. Understandable, but less than optimum for such a meeting. Hopefully she could provide a cultural buffer and defuse the tension somewhat.

The hatch slid open to reveal two Vulcans. One wore the uniform of a full Centurion, the other a Crewman, First Rank. Both visitors raised their hands in the ta'al, which T'Pol and her companions returned. "Peace and long life," the senior officer intoned. "I am Centurion Solis. My companion is Crewman Jowan. We have been assigned by Commander T'Lar to observe and assist with the interrogation of the prisoner. We request permission to come aboard."

"Permission granted," Captain Archer told them. "Welcome. I'm Captain Archer." He gestured. "This is my first officer, Commander T'Pol, and my chief of security Lieutenant Reed. Commander T'Pol will be your primary liason. "

"Acknowledged," Solis inclined his head. Jowan stood behind him without speaking or reacting - a silent, hulking presence who needed to duck in order to pass through the airlock door.

From his huge size, coarse hair, and thick features, T'Pol surmised that Jowan derived from the region of the To'Ledvar mountains. It was an extremely remote and rugged area of Vulcan noted for its harsh terrain, unpredictable storms, and the ferocity of its wildlife. Fleet personnel from the To'Ledvar region were preferred as diplomatic attaches and secretaries when entering into the occasional negotiation with Klingons. The intimidation value derived when the Klingons found themselves facing Vulcans even larger than they were often proved advantageous.

T'Pol said, "Mr. Reed and I will escort you to your cabins. Following which, I have scheduled a preliminary consultation in our briefing room. We will provide you with an understanding of our results to date, and we can strategize the most effective use of our joint resources."

"A superior approach," Solis approved. "Will you be joining us for the briefing, Captain?"

Archer opened his mouth. Then he closed it firmly and tightened his lips with a stubborn expression. "No. I am confident in the abilities of my officers. They know how to do their jobs and they don't need me holding their hands." From the corner of her eye, T'Pol noted Reed's jaw beginning to sag. "I will of course be available if needed, but otherwise I will leave this in the hands of the specialists."

"It is an honor to be aboard, Captain," Solis told him. "Perhaps we will speak again."

"We certainly will," Archer told him. "For now, I am needed on the bridge. Take over, T'Pol." With that, he turned and headed off down the corridor. T'Pol blinked thoughtfully and glanced at Reed, who seemed rather stunned. She made a mental note to talk to him later regarding the changes which were becoming apparent in the captain's style of command. The changes were welcome and long overdue, in her opinion, but would require some adjustments on the part of the crew.

"If you will follow me?" T'Pol started walking toward the cargo bay, where additional visitor's quarters had been constructed. "Given the number and variety of the refugees that _Enterprise_ is carrying and the range of their preferred environments, our chief engineer has elected to construct temporary sleeping compartments in each cargo hold."

"I am certain that the accommodations will be acceptable," Solis told her stoutly, with a grim expression. Jowan straightened his shoulders as if expecting torture.

"We certainly hope so," Reed put in hurriedly. "After the compartments were constructed the engineering staff applied insulation and sealer to allow individual sleeping units to be set with their own temperature and humidity." The two visitors relaxed visibly, T'Pol noted. It was intriguing to realize that the longer she lived among Humans, the more sensitive she became to the slightest nuances of 'body language'.

As they waited for Solis and Jowan to unpack their meager belongings, T'Pol continued musing about the sleeping compartments that surrounded them. They were necessarily tiny, since some space had to be left for people to move around in, and of course nothing could be done about gravity, air pressure, oxygen content, or a plethora of other environmental issues, but just being able to sleep without freezing, drowning in sweat, choking on moisture, or waking up with a rasping throat from air that was too dry made a huge difference in the quality of life for their passengers.

It had, however, caused some disciplinary issues when Trip forcefully made it plain that it was _not_ acceptable to accept gratuities from passengers simply for doing one's job. Particularly when such gratuities were of an intensely personal nature.

Her thoughts were interrupted by the nearly simultaneous emergence of the two Vulcans. "We are ready," Solis announced.

"Then," Reed said, rubbing his hands in satisfaction, "let us begin."

#

Senek entered the _Lerteiran's_ tiny sickbay to check on the child and to tell him that his sister now knew of his whereabouts. To his surprise Damin sat in a chair at Selim's bedside with a padd in hand, reading what looked like engine schematics. He was wearing a green ship's coverall rather than his usual flowing silks.

"Are you crew now, then?" Senek asked the Betazoid. Damin looked up, but Senek had the distinct impression that he'd been aware of Senek's approach long before the agent had stepped into the room.

"No. Just a volunteer. Mistress Sehlra asked for my assistance." The tone of voice with which Damin said the Andorian woman's name and the Betazoid's manner of address were enough to raise Senek's suspicions. Did he actually expect Senek to believe that he had amorous intentions toward the Andorian? Admittedly, Damin _was _obviously unconventional in his sexual preferences, but the idea that this curly-haired boy harbored unrequited lust for a retired Andorian guardswoman who had to be three times his age was one that stretched the boundaries of even Senek's usually very open mind. He decided to play along for the time being.

Stepping up to Selim's bedside, he touched his fingertips to the child's temple to check his status. "This boy's been sedated," he told Damin, affronted. The child needed rest, of course, but sedatives were unnecessary. Any Vulcan not in pon-farr and capable of comprehension, even a Vulcan child, had sufficient control to self-calm given enough time and guidance. To sedate Selim in a situation such as this one greatly underestimated the child's capabilities. In an adult it would have been frankly insulting.

"He was agitated and would not be calmed," said Damin, setting aside his padd and standing to confront Senek. "Sehlra is the medic on this ship. She made the decision to sedate him for his own benefit. Are you challenging her medical decision?" Damin's tone was convincing. He looked and sounded like a man defending his woman.

"So, Damin…how's our stowaway?" Sehlra's question barely preceded her arrival to sickbay from the companionway. She paused in the doorway to glance from one man to the other in puzzlement, and then turned to Damin in reproof.

"Twice in one day, Damin?" she chided, obviously amused. "You'd best be careful. Your Alpha male is showing." To Senek's astonishment the Betazoid's face flushed and he immediately dropped his gaze. The boy had some amazing talents. First a meld without touching his subject and now the voluntary control of what Senek had always believed to be a completely involuntary response. Was it even possible to blush on command?

"Selim is well, Mistr… er… Sehlra," mumbled Damin, looking at the deckplates.

"I'm pleased to hear it," Sehlra replied in a totally befuddled tone. She tilted her head and tried to make eye contact with Damin, but the Betazoid's gaze remained fixed on the floor. The two obviously had some things to discuss. Senek was usually the curious sort, but even he didn't want to probe into the situation too deeply.

"I thought that you were going off duty," he commented to Sehlra. She paused in her study of the red-faced telepath to answer Senek.

"I am. I'm just checking on the boy." She stepped up to the biobed, shouldering past Damin and making it clear to which "boy" she was referring. After a review of the bioscan data she announced her findings.

"He's fine. He should wake up in eight hours or so. I'm going to bed." The Andorian sounded tired and cranky. She shot a single glance at Damin before leaving the room. Damin looked up finally as she left. The expression on his face was painful.

Senek sighed. "If you'd like to speak with her before she goes to bed I will stay with the boy. I have no other pressing duties at the present time." Damin looked surprised, and then visibly composed himself.

"Are you certain? Are you familiar with the monitoring readouts?" he asked.

"I will manage, I'm sure," said Senek in a dry voice. He was alone in the room in .5 seconds.

#

Sehlra closed her eyes, but sleep would not come.

_He's regretting what happened in the galley. That's why he won't look at you. Get over it and go to sleep, you old fool._

The thought didn't set to rest the primary question in her mind. What could Damin possibly have seen in her to begin with? She was old, past any hope of seducing anyone. Was it the money they were going to make with this preferred trade status deal? Was it something else? And what had she done to make him change his mind?

In the _tlasp _she'd been able to sense his emotions. He _wanted _her. He wanted to _please _her more than anything. Or at least he had.

It was just as well, she tried to tell herself. A relationship with Damin had always been out of the question. Unfortunately, the assertion didn't calm the turmoil in her mind or the heat in her belly.

There was a tap on her door. She rose to answer, annoyed, and stood blinking in the doorway.

"May I come in?" Damin's voice was a mere whisper, apologetic. He still wasn't making eye contact.

"I really don't think that's a good idea," Sehlra told him. And then he looked up. His eyes made him look like the lerik pup she'd once bought for her oldest son when he was eight. The poor thing had run away after three weeks to escape the torture. "Oh, all right," she growled. "Just for a minute." And against her better judgment she let him in.

As soon as the door shut behind him Damin fell to his knees before her.

"Please forgive me. I had no right to behave that way with you in a public area," he told her in a fervent tone. "You should punish me. I deserve it." Sehlra stood looking down at the top of his bowed head. She crossed her arms over her chest and chewed on her lip.

_What in the name of the Mother is Damin up to? Can he possibly be serious?_

"Get up, go sit over there, and tell me what's got you so agitated," she ordered with a tired sigh. The Betazoid obeyed her immediately and took a seat where she was pointing, in the chair beside the desk. Sehlra sat down on the lower of the two bunks stacked atop each other against the back wall of the cabin and waited expectantly.

"Jenrali caught us engaging in activity which was inappropriate for duty hours," Damin explained in a hesitant voice. "It was my fault. You would never have behaved in such a manner had I not started…what I started. I was apologizing."

"And that is your customary apology," Sehlra clarified.

Damin smiled a fleeting smile. "Not all of it," he admitted. Sehlra felt her face go warm. She cleared her throat.

"It isn't necessary to be so subservient with me, Damin. I'm not really into that sort of thing… at least not all of the time." Damin perked up at that.

"So you prefer more variety, then," he said, smiling eagerly. "I can do that. Tell me what you want and I'll do it."

"What I want is for you to stop trying so hard and just be _you,_" Sehlra told him, exasperated. "Believe me… that's enough to impress me."

Damin looked back at her with an inscrutable expression on his face. "I'm not certain I know how to do that," he said.

_Of course he doesn't, you fool. He's been at everyone else's beck and call his entire life, _thought Sehlra. She caught herself feeling sorry for him. It was the last thing she needed to be doing. All it did was make him even more impossible to resist. Despite that, she couldn't seem to stop the next words that came out of her mouth.

"You might start by deciding what _you _want." As soon as Damin's bottomless black eyes met hers she realized her mistake. He was smiling.

"I already have," he said, and rose from the chair to sit right beside her on the bed. She moved over a few inches to prevent their thighs from touching.

"Now, Damin," Sehlra warned. "We can't…"

"Why not?" he whispered, lifting a hand to trace one finger along her jawline. "You're not on duty. We're in private. Jenrali won't be off duty for another seven hours…" Sehlra closed her eyes. The sensation was exquisite. She fought to gather her thoughts. There was a question she'd needed an answer to…

"Why?" she whispered plaintively, her eyes still closed. "Why me?" A delicate touch travelled from her earlobe to the base of her right antenna. She gasped as she felt the_ tlasp_ take hold. Damin's desire, his determination to woo her, his fear of being rejected, all of it rushed in. She opened her eyes to find herself drowning in Damin's dark gaze. Something gave way between them and suddenly it was much more than a _tlasp._

_I need you, Sehlra. You complete me. I am weak where you are strong, and you deserve someone to remind you of how desirable you are. I can be that someone. _His voice reverberated in her head. He absolutely believed in the truth of what he was saying, and through him, Sehlra came to believe it, too.

His hands pulled her down to the bed with him beneath her. She lay atop him, her eyes locked with his, her lower body molded against him. _Please let me be that someone. _The force of his plea sent shivers down her spine. His hands grasped her hips, pulling her astride him. Through two layers of clothing she could feel his straining arousal.

And she said yes.

#

T'Riss acknowledged Damin's arrival with a feeling of bewilderment, looking past him in vain for some evidence of Sehlra's presence. He smiled and offered, "Sehlra is still resting. I offered to keep an eye on things down here. She agreed as long as I promised to scream in horror if anything starts flashing blue. I can wake her to confirm the order if you wish." A picture flashed into T'Riss's mind of Sehlra's likely response to that scenario.

"That will not be necessary," she replied hastily, and walked out, ignoring his cheerful suggestion that she sleep well. Given the conversation she was about to have sleep was the least likely of options.

Her gentle tapping on Daniel's door provoked no response, so T'Riss entered his quarters quietly. The welcoming warmth of his quarters, set at Human standard temperature rather than Andorian, enfolded her like the feel of his arms. Despite her misgivings, T'Riss felt some of the anxiety within her dissipate. After all, he had not reacted with anger to learning of the betrothal bond. Perhaps...

Daniel was still sleeping. He lay sprawled on his side with limbs splayed in every direction. His hair was disheveled and his whiskers were beginning to thicken. T'Riss briefly considered the aesthetic potential of facial hair, then pushed the thought aside and touched his shoulder. He awakened instantly. At the moment of skin contact, T'Riss noted a definite sense of connection. It was faint, but unmistakable. Being aware of the betrothal bond now made her wonder how she could possibly have failed to note the sensation before.

"T'Riss." Daniel smiled sleepily and glanced at the chronometer, rubbing his eyes. "I slept like a dead man. More than seven hours. Wow." He shifted and sat up, letting the blanket pool around his legs and lap. T'Riss firmly refused to permit herself to spend time appreciating the symmetry and proportions of Daniel's upper body.

"I wish to continue our earlier conversation, if you are willing," she told him.

"Sure," Daniel nodded. "Let me visit the head and brush my teeth. Be out in a few." He emerged from beneath the blanket wearing nothing but his briefs, triggering an irresistible memory of the previous night and what was hidden under those briefs. She deliberately avoided watching him walk to the washroom.

T'Riss settled herself on the edge of Daniel's bunk and tried to settle her mind. She considered her options and decided that there was no point in trying plan her approach. Everything would depend on Daniel's reaction to the betrothal bond. The washroom door opened and she looked up to see him emerge wearing a bathrobe. T'Riss squelched a twinge of disappointment, telling herself that it was better to discuss this matter without distractions.

"So," Daniel said, flopping down on the bunk next to her. "You hooked me with a betrothal bond. How did this happen? I don't recall you performing any kind of meld."

"No!" T'Riss caught herself. "I would never do such a thing, Daniel. Please believe me. Especially after what was done to me. I had no idea that the bond had formed until the melder-healer detected it."

Daniel nodded, half-smiling. "I believe you. Relax. Trip told me that it happened that way with them. They didn't even know a mating bond was possible with a Human until it was already formed. Considering the physical contact we've had, I suppose it isn't really surprising."

"I... I was informed that... if you wish... the bond can be severed without damage," T'Riss forced the words out before she lost her courage.

Daniel regarded her. He seemed concerned and a bit surprised, whether by her hesitance to sever the bond or by her fear, she wasn't certain. "Is that what you want?"

"No." T'Riss said the words firmly. "I desire you for my husband if you are willing to accept me."

"Are you certain of that?" Daniel raised a brow. "No doubts or reservations anymore? Not even if a Vulcan prospect comes along?"

"Yes," she told him definitely, "I am certain. You are the one I want." She swallowed. "I wish to tell you something, Daniel. Will you hear me?"

"Sure," Daniel shrugged. "Go ahead."

"I told you about the betrothal bond, and that it could be severed. But I did not tell you the rest of it." She filled her lungs. "Healer Sorsen informed me that he could suppress the memories of my captivity. This would allow me to return to my life on Vulcan and resume normal activity as if the incident had never occurred. I would even be able to seek another Vulcan mate, if I chose to do so. But he could only do this if I agreed to have him sever the betrothal bond first."

Daniel leaned back on one elbow and rubbed his chin. "That's very... interesting. Why didn't you? I probably would never have felt a thing. And you only picked me because you didn't think you could get a Vulcan worth having anyway."

T'Riss felt her abdominal muscles clench. "That is not strictly accurate, Daniel. I chose you for several reasons, but I have since realized that my initial considerations are no longer entirely applicable. I now desire you as my husband for other reasons. These reasons would apply regardless of your race."

"What might those be?" His lips quirked. For some puzzling reason he seemed to be amused. No matter. She took a deep breath and began.

"There are many, of variable importance. But the most significant is the fact that you are willing to accept me in my current condition. Even after my shameful display last night, you told me that you were still willing to consider me as a mate." Daniel started to say something and she held up her hand to forestall him. "Please. Permit me to finish. You are the only potential mate in the galaxy who knows me for what I truly am. You saw me-." She choked.

Daniel watched silently while she recovered control. "You saw me as a half-naked slave, watching while that... while Grigor-Tel ran his hand over me. Instead of lust and contempt, all I saw on your face was pity. And then you tried to help me." She turned her face away and fought for control.

"You were not responsible for any of that, T'Riss," Daniel insisted in a gentle voice.

She ignored his attempt at comfort. "Afterward, I acted in a most heinous and disgraceful fashion. I conspired with one of your people's enemies to ambush you and invade your..." Suddenly she stopped, unable to continue. Her breathing sounded harsh to her own ears.

Daniel reached across and took her by the upper arms, turning her gently to face him. "That's old news. Stop beating yourself up."

"How? How do you do that?" she suddenly demanded. "My people have spent our entire history tearing ourselves apart for the sake of revenge. We have destroyed our civilization and re-built it countless times in war after war after war, wars that were launched for the sake of vengeance. And you – you just... forgive me..." She stared at him. "We spend our lives studying, meditating, struggling to understand and to apply the teachings of Surak regarding IDIC and tolerance. But you live those principles as naturally as you breathe. How?"

He shrugged. "We have to. With as many different cultures and groups as Humans have produced, we had to learn how to get along with each other or blow up the planet."

"We – did – blow up our planet. Or very nearly." T'Riss looked down at her hands.

"I know." The real sympathy in his voice came very near to breaking her control completely. She looked up and met his eyes.

"It is not possible that I would ever find another male, much less a Vulcan male, who would be willing to tolerate what you have tolerated; who could accept the disgraceful truth of my past and still be willing to take me as a wife." She hesitantly brushed the fingers of her uninjured hand along his cheek. "I will never find anyone else like you, and I perceive no logic in wasting time and resources on a futile search."

Daniel's eyes half closed at the touch of her fingers. He turned his face toward her hand and brushed his lips across her palm, sending a jolt of sensation up her arm. He caught her hand when she reflexively jerked away.

"You know," Daniel said slowly, "as I understand it, Vulcans customarily marry people they barely know and then spend at least a year living together to get acquainted." He held eyes as he gently brought her palm up to his mouth and brushed his lips delicately across the inside of her wrist.

"Yes," she said, and weakly tried to pull free. He held her wrist firmly captive and she was disinclined to dispute the matter.

"We do it the other way around," Daniel said. He reached over and used his free hand to stroke the side of her neck. Meanwhile, he resumed working with his lips and tongue. He kissed along her wrist, danced the tip of his tongue across her palm, and then made feather light traces out to the tips of her fingers. "I won't do anything you don't want me to do," Daniel promised her softly. "Just say stop. Or say no. Do you want me to stop?" He ran a careful fingertip down the side of her neck and started tracing her collarbone.

"No," she said weakly. He released her instantly and sat back. "No! I meant..." she continued more calmly, "I meant that I do not wish you to stop. But I am concerned about the possibility of an involuntary bonding. I do not wish to entrap you."

"You won't," Daniel said. He slid closer and put an arm around her waist. "What I meant earlier is that we Humans spend that year, more or less, getting acquainted before we get married instead of afterward. Then, when we swear the oaths, we already know that we are compatible, theoretically at least." He bent forward and opened his mouth, placing his teeth at base of her throat and stroked her with his tongue again while gently nibbling.

"It-, It seems-, It would seem to be-, I cannot think while you are doing that, Daniel!" T'Riss burst out. He pulled back to look at her and T'Riss realized, to her chagrin, that her eyes were moist and she was trembling.

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry," Daniel said contritely. "I never meant to upset you."

"You did not." T'Riss clenched her unsplinted fist. "I am at fault. My control is less than perfect. I am..." She stopped to breathe heavily. "For so long, I was completely unable to control my responses to sexual stimulation." She looked at Daniel, silently pleading for him to understand. "On the station, whenever I was wanted I was prepared by being injected with the microbe. I had no choice and no control over my body's response. When you did... that... I could feel myself losing control again." She looked down again. "I am sorry."

"No. I'm sorry." Daniel took her face between his hands. "Please forgive me for being a thoughtless asshole. It never occurred to me."

She shook her head. "There was no reason that it should."

"Sure there is." He sighed. "But what I was talking about earlier kind of connects to that. It involves getting to know each other better. Understanding each other better. It's like I said the last time we talked, we really don't know that much about each other. I'd like to change that."

"You wish to gain greater insight into my background?" T'Riss asked him.

"Not just your background," Daniel said. "Everything about you. Where you came from, your favorite color, your dreams, your friends, your childhood pets, your shoe size, your birthday, your favorite flavor, your ticklish spots. Everything. And I want you to learn about me, so you can make a real decision about whether you want me. Not just pick me because you don't think you could do better."

T'Riss looked up sharply. "I told you-."

"I know what you told me," he interrupted her. "It still comes back to you not thinking anyone else would take you if they knew who you really were. I would rather have a woman who chooses me because she wants me, even if she could have her pick of any man in the galaxy. If I could get one like that, anyway," he added wryly.

"How do you wish to approach this matter?" T'Riss asked him stiffly. She braced herself for interrogation.

"Oh, for goodness sake," Daniel snorted. "Relax. I just want us to take the time to talk to each other. That's all. How about this? Every day, we can make a point of telling each other one new thing about ourselves. Doesn't have to be anything important, just something that we haven't mentioned before. For instance, my mother's name was Eleanor." He smiled at her. "Your turn. Tell me something about yourself that I don't already know."

T'Riss blinked. "Anything?"

"Anything at all," Daniel said cheerfully.

"I find the odor of cooked animal flesh unpleasant."

"That's exactly the kind of thing I was talking about," Daniel told her. "If we're planning to live together and I'm going to keep eating meat – which I am – then things like that are important to know up front."

"Do you wish to limit the exchange of information to only one item per day?" T'Riss asked.

"Uh, no," Daniel told her. "I meant at least one thing. You are welcome to tell me anything you want, whenever you want." He looked thoughtful. "You smell good to me. Kind of like the ocean. But kind of like sandalwood. But not really like either one. But good."

T'Riss felt her face growing warm. "It is agreeable that you find my scent pleasant. I also find your scent agreeable."

"Really?" Daniel looked surprised. "You're the first Vulcan I've ever met who's expressed that opinion about Human scent."

T'Riss pursed her lips. "Most Vulcans never leave our home world and consequently never encounter other species."

"I suppose by now you've encountered enough 'other species' to be the resident Vulcan expert on the subject," said Daniel, smiling.

"I do not believe that I am an expert on Humans… at least not yet," T'Riss demurred. Daniel's smile broadened.

"I can help with that. We've got an hour before change of shift." He turned and pointed at his desk. "Hand me that padd." She did so, puzzled. He turned it on and paged through several screens before he found the one he wanted. Then he settled back, propped up by a pillow at the head of the bed, and gestured for her to join him. T'Riss, after a second of hesitation, lay down beside him, tucked beneath his arm.

"Here we go. I got this bit of classic ancient Earth literature a few years ago… thought it would help me out with a certain situation." He grimaced. "Didn't help much, but it's a start at least." He lifted the padd in his other hand and began to read. "_Men are From Mars, Women are From Venus, _by John Grey, PhD. Chapter One…"

TBC


	12. Chapter 12a

**The Lerteiran Chronicles**

**Episode Twelve: Family Ties**

**By Blacknblue and Distracted**

**Genre: Action Adventure and Romance**

**Rating: PG-13**

**Disclaimer: We don't own the Star Trek universe. We just go there to play. Honest. **

**We do, however, own our original characters and story ideas. You are welcome to borrow them as long as no money changes hands. If we can't make anything from this, nobody else gets to either.**

**Summary: We meet T'Riss's new Vulcan betrothed, T'Riss and Daniel try to work out their differences, Malcolm gets a crack at the Romulan prisoner, and there are spies in unexpected places.**

**######################################################**

Rays of the rising sun illuminated the breakfast room, casting a pink glow between the gauzy tan curtains on either side of the window. T'Rel sat at the table sipping her tea, surrounded by cool stone walls and gazing out over her rock garden. The morning silence was calming. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply to dispel the disquiet which had plagued her of late. Saran's recent retirement from government service had thus far been difficult for both of them. He would ordinarily have left for the day by this hour, giving her time for solitary reflection before her own departure. His querulous complaint broke her concentration.

"The plomeek is not fresh. When you go to the market today replenish our supply." He sat down heavily beside her with a mug of tea in hand, still dressed in his sleeping robes with grey stubble on his cheeks and his thinning white hair uncombed. He looked tired and drawn, older than his 150 years. She wondered why he persisted in arising so early now that he had nothing pressing to do and nowhere in particular to go.

"I have a department head meeting today over the noon hour and then a meeting after work to discuss a marriage candidate for T'Riss," replied T'Rel. "I will not have the time to go to the market, but the shopping list is on the kitchen counter. Why don't you go yourself? You might find a trip away from the house agreeable." Since his last day at work last month he'd rarely set foot off the household grounds. He was becoming a recluse, spending his days at the computer console rather than interacting with live beings. He'd always been introverted, but she was beginning to suspect that something was wrong.

"You found a candidate," commented Saran in an approving tone. "If he is less than 100 years old and in possession of all of his faculties we should make plans quickly before he changes his mind." The wry humor of his words gave her hope. The man she'd married wasn't entirely gone yet.

"I have not yet met him," replied TRel, "but since my appointment is with his mother I must assume that he is at least young enough to have one parent still living."

"I see." Saran sipped his tea again, waiting with an expectant expression. T'Rel let him wait, wondering whether she'd piqued his curiosity enough for him to pursue the issue. She took another swallow of tea. "So, what is wrong with him?" Saran prompted. T'Rel bit her lip, amused.

"Apparently he's a healer-in-training who has decided to enter specialty training as a healer-melder," she told him. "His prospective in-laws and his bride-to-be were very traditional. They demanded that he change his mind. He refused and so they ended the betrothal."

Saran blinked. "That seems an illogical attitude for them to take considering the official government position regarding the acceptability of melding."

"And I find it even more illogical to expect the complete reversal of a well-established societal attitude following a single government announcement," retorted T'Rel. It was an old argument. As an historian, T'Rel had taken issue with the current regime's attempts to rewrite decades of tradition with unilateral pronouncements based on a single ancient document. Saran held to the party line, as was fitting for a regional administrator—even a retired one. They usually managed to agree to disagree on the subject.

"If you agree with them, then why are you considering him?" inquired Saran.

T'Rel sighed. "I never said I agreed with them. In fact, considering what our daughter has suffered, a healer-melder might well be an excellent husband for her. At least he would be more likely to understand her difficulties. She has very few alternatives available to her."

"This is true," Saran admitted. T'Rel rose from the table and walked to the wash basin to place her mug in it.

"The boy's father is the director of the Shi'Kahr Port Authority. It's quite an advantageous match. It may be T'Riss's only opportunity to find a mate of her own social class." TRel added.

"Given this new development, do you not think it is finally time that we initiate contact with T'Riss?" Saran pressed his lips together. "Our only information about our daughter's condition has been filtered through Fleet channels. It strikes me that before a final determination concerning a new betrothal is made, it would be logical to assess her state of mind for ourselves."

"I concur," T'Rel agreed. "But I do not believe that an accurate assessment can be obtained over a subspace channel. The optimum course of action will be to notify her of our intention immediately prior to departure. This will provide T'Riss with ample time to meditate and prepare herself for the meeting. Once we arrive, all parties will be able to make an informed decision with minimal delay."

Saran looked doubtful. "Are you certain that we should delay informing her? The fleet reports were most unsatisfactory. All we really know is that the psychological profile which was done on T'Riss following her retrieval was profoundly atypical. Logic impels me to conclude that some aspects of the situation are not being fully reported to us."

She turned to confront him. "Are not violent assault and kidnapping sufficient cause for atypical responses?" Saran's expression remained skeptical. T'Rel took a firm grip on her control and exhaled heavily. "No doubt you are correct," she conceded. "It is obvious that we have not been fully informed. The fleet personnel aboard the rescue ships are occupied with urgent matters and must prioritize their time. This merely reinforces the value of having a healer-in-training in the family."

"What is the boy's name?" Saran asked. He sounded as if he was recovering from his post-retirement moodiness with his curiosity intact. T'Rel paused at the door, thinking. The mother's name was V'Lan. What _was _the boy's name? Stan? Spern?

"Stern," she tossed over her shoulder, grabbing her bag and her keys on her way out. "His name is Stern."

#

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed was disappointed but not particularly surprised that physical deprivation was having no apparent effect on the prisoner. Thus far, despite sleep deprivation and nothing but survival rations and water for the past two days accompanied by Hoshi's best attempts at persuasion in Romulan, all they'd managed to get out of the prisoner were intermittent bouts of vicious-sounding invective. Hoshi had managed to translate about half of it so far. In the first moments of the interrogation the prisoner had begun by spouting an imaginatively descriptive series of speculations about the sexual habits of her captors. According to Hoshi she hadn't repeated herself yet, but they still had no useful information, not even her name.

Malcolm regretted allowing the Betazoid agent to leave on _Lerteiran_ without questioning him more thoroughly. Damin's explanation for the Romulans' interest in him had been weak, but he'd been in the employ of Section 31 while aboard_ Enterprise, _and an ally. The captain hadn't given an order to question him, but he should have been vigorously interrogated about his Romulan connections anyway. Letting him leave without interrogation had been a serious error, and Malcolm had to admit that he alone was responsible. He was chief of security. He didn't need a direct order to do his job. The captain's habit of having a finger in every pie had made him forget that fact—that and the fact that he'd been distracted by a few other things at the time.

"_No excuses. Do what's expected of you and stop sniveling." _

His father's familiar advice was a part of him. He didn't need Stuart Reed around to remind him of his incompetence. He was more than capable of reminding himself.

The security officer that the _Sehlat _had sent over was observing the entire proceedings without comment. He and his massive companion hadn't offered a suggestion or asked a question yet, contenting themselves with watching their Human counterparts fail spectacularly. Solis, the centurion, had a blandly supercilious expression on his face. The crewman Jowan had no expression at all. His jutting unibrow made him look like the Vulcan version of a Neanderthal.

Malcolm had seen muscle. He'd _been _muscle. Despite that, the bloke was bloody frightening just standing there doing nothing. Malcolm wondered what sorts of things Jowan would do to the prisoner if she didn't break. Ancient tales of thumbscrews and branding irons came to mind. Did ancient Vulcans even have such things? Did modern Vulcans? He had no idea.

The Romulan woman was out of her restraints now behind the sturdy reinforced grille of the holding cell, looking deceptively non-threatening dressed in the recyclable blue paper tunic and pants provided to sickbay patients. She was locked up safe and sound, but doing this the safe way wasn't working. A face-to-face confrontation was required. A glance at Hoshi's exhausted and distressed face told him that she would not be the one to do it. The communications officer was much too soft-hearted for the task at hand. Their treatment of the prisoner had thus far been well within the standard Starfleet guidelines for prisoners of war, yet she'd winced at each new deprivation as if she were the one suffering it. He felt shame over putting her through this, but she was the only Human aboard qualified to conduct an interrogation in the Romulan language. Malcolm approached her where she stood by the grille, padd in hand. Her eyes were shadowed with fatigue, but he couldn't help but notice yet again how lovely she was. He put the thought aside for later. She'd want some comfort when this was all over.

She was repeating the same incomprehensible phrase over and over again, as if repetition might irritate the prisoner enough to get a new response out of her. The prisoner certainly seemed irritated enough. Her screaming abruptly drowned out Hoshi's hoarse voice. Malcolm rested a steadying hand on Hoshi's shoulder. She smiled up at him gratefully before returning her attention to her translation program. He leaned down to speak directly in her ear.

"Any luck?" he murmured. Her lips twisted wryly. She showed him the screen of her padd. The translation was scatological.

"May I suggest a change of strategy?" Centurian Solis's prim question was a welcome distraction. Malcolm turned and faced him, standing erect, a proper security officer. He raised a brow.

"You may."

Solis raised a brow right back before responding in a dry tone. "Crewman Jowan may be able to make more progress with the prisoner." His implied accusation of failure galled, but Malcolm suspected that he was right. He glanced at Jowan. The man's thick-featured face was blank. At least he didn't look eager to do whatever he was planning to do next. Malcolm glanced at Hoshi. Her face was pale, her eyes wide.

"Take a break, Ensign. Go get something to eat," he told her. "I'll call you when we're done." She didn't ask any questions. She just swallowed heavily, handed him the padd, and left. Only then did Malcolm turn to the Vulcans.

"Turn and turn about, gentlemen," he offered, gesturing toward the cell. Solis's eyes narrowed at the expression, but Jowan stepped forward, comprehending Malcolm's words—or perhaps more eager to begin than Malcolm had initially realized. Malcolm stepped aside to the door control. As the door swished open he caught sight of the prisoner's face. For the first time he saw fear in her eyes. The door closed behind Jowan's broad back.

Curious despite himself, Malcolm stepped up to the grille. Centurion Solis joined him. Through the narrow aperture Malcolm could see the prisoner backing away cautiously from the Vulcan as he advanced on her. The backs of her lower legs met the bunk and she sat down abruptly. Jowan, towering over her, said something in a deep voice. The prisoner's eyes widened. Jowan reached out a ham-sized hand and placed his fingertips delicately over her bandaged temple. She closed her eyes, oddly submissive.

"A mind meld?" asked Malcolm in disbelief.

"Of course. Jowan is the _Sehlat's _most skilled interrogative melder," replied Solis. He gave Malcolm a strange look. "Did you expect something else, Lieutenant Reed?"

#

Daniel woke up to a numb arm and a tickled nose. Then he realized how warm it was under the blanket – something he was quickly getting used to. He eased his nose forward into T'Riss' hair and took a deep breath of herbal shampoo and the coppery scent of warm Vulcan. It smelled good.

His free arm was draped casually across T'Riss's waist just above the hip, and at some point during the night he must have spooned his legs up behind her thighs. Daniel had never felt more disinclined to move in his life.

"You are awake," T'Riss said softly.

"Mm-hmn," he replied, content. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"I was not asleep," she responded in a drowsy voice, then stretched before settling back against him, her writhing movement against his body doing all sorts of strange and wonderful things to him. "You seemed to be resting comfortably, and neither of us are due to report for duty immediately. I saw no reason to wake you."

Daniel pulled himself closer and hugged her from behind, nuzzling her hair again. T'Riss offered no objection to this, even tilting her head slightly to make it easier for him to reach her neck. Then he kissed her cheek and murmured in her ear. "Are you sure you don't mind sharing this cabin and this bunk with me? I know how important privacy is for meditation. Or sometimes just for thinking."

T'Riss rolled over nose to nose with him. Her gaze locked on his lips for just a second, and then she pulled back, looking a little flustered. He smiled at her reassuringly. Her expression became quizzical. "I intend to marry you, Daniel…if I succeed in persuading you to agree to the match. Isn't it customary for Human couples to share a bed?"

"Not always," Daniel replied with a shrug. "Some do, some don't. And I know that a lot of Vulcan couples don't share a bed just to get some relief from telepathic contact. It has to be a strain for you, putting up with my thoughts and emotions all night." He searched her face for some sign of distress at his close proximity. She didn't seem quite as comfortable face to face with him as she had been when they were spooning, but it didn't seem to bother her too much. Of course, Daniel wasn't at all sure he'd be able to tell if something was bothering her unless she wanted him to know about it.

"If it ever becomes a problem," T'Riss told him quietly, "I can wear more extensive sleepwear or I can temporarily relocate to the floor. But for now our bond is too weak to allow much involuntary leakage." She reached over and traced his eyebrow. He closed his eyes and held his breath, afraid to spook her.

"Your natural telepathy is not very powerful, Daniel," whispered T'Riss. "Ordinarily you do not broadcast unless you are upset, not even during skin to skin contact. " He opened his eyes. Her pupils were huge, and he could feel her heart pounding against his upper abdomen, its position a subtle reminder of her alienness.

Daniel reached out carefully and took a lock of her hair between his fingers, twining the sweet-smelling, smooth, cool length of it around his forefinger. He looked at it rather than at her face while he searched for the right thing to say. Then he smiled and shrugged. . "I'm just... are you sure about all of this?"

She sat up and bent one knee so as to fit sideways on the bunk, facing him. Since T'Riss made a habit of sleeping in regulation Vulcan military undergarments, a bra and panties made of stretch grey fabric which might as well have been painted on, Daniel automatically fell into his newly cultivated habit of silently reciting the multiplication tables to himself while thinking about the last time he'd visited Andoria. It helped most of the time.

"It has been nine days since we began our trip to Risa," she told him in the forthright manner he'd come to expect from her. "Nine days since I informed you of our betrothal bond and my desire to develop our bond to its natural fulfillment. Since that time you have inquired as to the certainty of my decision a total of 38 times." She sighed, looking perturbed. "It is plain that I have been failing in my efforts to demonstrate my sincerity to you. Please tell me what I can do." When she looked at him with her dark eyes shining that way, he felt a shockwave smack him in the forehead and reverberate down his throat and into his gut.

"It's not that I doubt what you tell me," he began. "It's that... I mean it's...just...," he floundered.

T'Riss leaned forward, displaying all the cleavage a man could ever want just under his nose. Daniel's mouth suddenly went dry. "I told you this when Sehlra requested the return of her cabin, and I repeat the offer now. I am more than willing to seal our mating bond," she assured him. "There will be no repeat of my foolish lack of control during our last encounter." She stroked his face and ran her hand down his chest, letting her fingers trail across his stomach to the waistband of his undershorts. He firmly intercepted them and brought them back up for a kiss, his wanting abruptly tempered by caution.

"Um, about that…" Daniel started with a hesitant smile.

"I understand your hesitation," T'Riss went on, as if in a hurry to get it out before he could stop her. "I have come to terms with my fear, and cast it out. It may take some time before I am capable of providing you with maximum pleasure, but I am quite confident that I will be able to submit to copulation whenever you wish."

Daniel shook his head at that, frustrated. "That's the whole point, T'Riss. I don't want you to 'submit'. I want you to want it. If you don't want it, I don't want it either."

"But I do want it, Daniel," T'Riss insisted. She gripped his hand with both of hers, so tightly that it made him wince. At his pained expression she relaxed her grip and grimaced apologetically. "I just need time."

"Then let's give it time," he told her, mentally returning to "_six times seven is forty-two"_. "I'm a big boy. I can wait."

#

"Mother," Stern said in a resigned voice, "I am quite certain that there are Vulcan toiletries on Risa. We do, after all, maintain an embassy there. It is also a major trading port."

"It is illogical to base one's planning on the unknown," V'Lan retorted, bustling about the sleeping chamber as she gathered up his possessions for packing. Stern shook his head. He was a legal adult, he had completed the full regime of public schooling, he was very nearly finished with his basic healer training, and he was well begun on the path of his chosen specialty, but his mother remained firmly convinced of his incompetence.

V'Lan continued, "We must present an agreeable impression during our travels with your new betrothed's family. Failing to make reasonable preparations for all contingencies is not a logical option." She paused to survey his shirts, finally laying aside several and selecting some others, using criteria that Stern was unable to fathom.

"Do you also intend to pack for Jara?" Stern asked. His mother fastened the clasps of the case she'd just filled. He sighed, then moved forward obediently at her gesture and shifted the first of the filled travel trunks to the hallway.

"Your sister," V'Lan told him calmly, "is quite capable of packing for herself. Unlike the males in this family, she is pragmatic and logical." His mother sealed the clasps on the second piece of luggage and handed it to him. Stern took it without a word, watching glumly as she moved with undiminished enthusiasm toward the third case. "It is unfortunate that your father's duties prevent him from accompanying us, but it does at least simplify the logistics of the trip."

"Indeed," Stern said. "With only the three of us, we might be able to fit all of our luggage aboard a single ship." His voice must have betrayed his mood, for his mother paused in her activity to look at him.

"It is not your place to concern yourself with these matters," V'Lan chided him affectionately. "Do not trouble yourself, my son. Managing the affairs of family is the responsibility of the female members. You should emulate your father and concentrate your attention where it belongs, on your work. Your sister and I will complete the negotiations and arrangements. Your only responsibility will be to attend the meetings and present yourself in an appealing manner…and of course, to assess the girl and let us know if you detect some factor that renders her unsuitable."

"I have already presented my choice to you and father," Stern told her, stiff lipped.

V'Lan's face froze. "The girl is totally unsuitable. The daughter of a laborer? She has not even completed her secondary training yet, and you have indicated that she intends to specialize in stone carving. Hardly a suitable mate for the son of the head of the Shi'Kahr Port Authority."

Stern knew the fight was lost before he began, but stubbornness compelled him to continue. "She is intelligent, well read, extremely healthy, and quite willing to accept my choice of career as a healer-melder. Moreover, while her father may be a laborer, he is a skilled laborer in the construction trades, and her family is well established in the upper-mid economic range."

"We will not discuss this matter further," she told him abruptly. "The decision has been made. You will accept the judgment of the family." V'Lan turned her back and resumed packing, leaving Stern with clenched fists and a desperate need to meditate. He strode out of the room before he said something that would inflict permanent damage on his familial relationships.

#

"How are things looking?" Sehlra breezed into the engineering room with a relaxed pace and a faint smile. Even her antennae were flexing loosely in random patterns. According to the Fleet training that T'Riss had received, this was a certain indicator that the Andorian was in a happy mood.

"The injectors have remained well within operational tolerances," T'Riss reported. "Plasma flow has fluctuated, as predicted, due to the improvised modifications to the crossover network, but the stabilizing effect of the secondary crystalline matrix has provided effective compensation, again, as predicted. The only potential difficulty has been the strain on the power conduits to the passenger quarters due to the extra heating requirements."

Sehlra grunted in mild annoyance, but did not even bother to curse. T'Riss fought not to raise an eyebrow. "We'll probably have to replace some relays before we get there. Still 16 days left in the trip. Might even need to run some new conduit. But for now it should be all right if it doesn't get any worse than this. Looks pretty good," she finished up cheerfully.

T'Riss straightened. "Do you have further duties for me to perform, ma'am?"

Sehlra looked at her thoughtfully. "Yes, come to think of it. It's about time for another follow-up on that little brat. I think I'll let you handle it this time. I'm getting tired of being kicked and bitten every time I get near the little bandit. You seem to be able to handle him fairly well."

T'Riss hesitated. "With respect, ma'am. If you were to allow Raijiin to…"

"Stop right there," Sehlra's good mood showed signs of evaporating. "Don't even go there." Sehlra had thus far been adamant about confining Raijiin to the cargo bay. Since Selim refused to go anywhere without the telepath, it followed that he was also confined to the cargo bay, an area entirely too small to contain the energies of a juvenile male of any species. T'Riss clamped down on a repeat of her suggestion that Raijiin be allowed to take the boy for periodic "walks" about the ship.

"Yes, ma'am," she said, and stood silently waiting.

After a few deep breaths, Sehlra continued, "Go to the medical bay and get the supplies. You remember what I used last time?" T'Riss nodded. "Take the standard readings. I'm sure that little... I'm sure the boy is fine now, but I won't have the Vulcans claiming that we neglected his health while he was on this ship."

"Understood," T'Riss said. Sehlra waved her away and turned to examine the reactor's main readout display. T'Riss hesitated, debating whether it was appropriate to ask a superior officer such a personal question, then forced out, "Sehlra? May I ask you something?" The old Andorian was in too good a mood for T'Riss to miss the opportunity for information gathering.

The older woman looked up in surprise and actually smiled before returning her attention to the reactor display. "You can ask anything. I might lie about it if it's too nosy, but go ahead."

T'Riss hesitated. "Has Daniel…," she paused, cleared her throat, and mentally reformulated the question. "Do you know if Daniel.,," She stopped herself again. Sehlra still had her eyes on the display. T'Riss wasn't certain she was listening, but she had to know. "I wish to know if Daniel has indicated to you his inclinations concerning my proposal," she finally managed to get out all in one breath.

Sehlra turned from the display console with a surprised expression. "Get back over here girl." She motioned toward a seat. "Plant yourself. Let's talk. What do you mean, his inclinations? I thought you had already agreed to hook up? I mean, you sleep together every night don't you? You have a betrothal bond, don't you?"

"Yes, we do," T'Riss confirmed. "Both are true. But…" She looked down and realized, to her dismay, that she was clenching her hands together. She made a conscious effort to draw them apart and steady her breathing, then she looked up and calmly told Sehlra, "We have not yet finalized our mating bond."

Sehlra blinked several times and slowly sank down onto the only other seat in the room. "What?"

"We have not yet mated."

"What?"

T'Riss asked in concern, "Are you unwell, ma'am? Is something interfering with your hearing?"

Sehlra stared at her. "Daniel told us that you hurt his back because he rolled over on top of you."

T'Riss nodded sharply. "That is correct. He attempted to initiate copulation and I panicked."

"You panicked? How did you panic?"

"I threw him across the room."

The Andorian engineer raised a hand to her chin and rubbed, looking very perplexed as she studied T'Riss. T'Riss felt her face grow warm under the old woman's gaze, and she looked down at her hands.

"All right." Sehlra obviously fought to understand. "You're sleeping together every night, but you aren't mating. What _are_ you doing? Just sleeping?"

"Not entirely," T'Riss felt her face growing warmer. "Daniel has been introducing me to methods that Humans use to express affection."

"He has, huh?" Sehlra reached up and carefully scratched the base of one antenna. "I won't ask for details," she smirked. "So I take it that the Vulcan mating bond won't kick in until you finish the job?"

"That is my understanding," T'Riss told her, wishing that she had never broached the subject.

Sehlra shook her head. "Now I'm confused," she said. "Daniel wanted to mate. You panicked and threw him off. But now you want to mate. And Daniel... doesn't? Is that right?"

"Daniel is evidently unwilling to accept my assurances that I am completely committed to our joining," T'Riss explained.

"What did you do to make him doubtful?" Sehlra asked bluntly, crossing her arms over her chest and inspecting T'Riss as if she were a raw recruit prone to grievous errors in judgment.

"I am not certain," T'Riss admitted. "Perhaps it was my previous reaction. Perhaps he is reconsidering spending his life with someone as damaged as I am. Perhaps he does not trust me because of the way I behaved when we first met. I do not know."

"Should he trust you?" Sehlra drilled her with a look.

T'Riss met the look with as much dignity as she could muster. "You are welcome to have Damin probe me. Let him report to you on my sincerity." The Andorian woman's features softened.

"I will talk to the boy," she said. "See if I can find out what's happening in his head."

"I will be grateful for any assistance," T'Riss told her. She stood up. "Is there anything else you wish me to do after examining Selim?"

"Go meditate," Sehlra told her, "you look like you could use it."

#

Her clothing was elegant. So were the furnishings in her office. She moved with the studied grace of the professional ornament and placed herself in the chaise behind her desk—much too elegant to be called a simple chair—with the calculated precision of a striking panther.

A perfectly manicured finger pressed an unremarkable point on the exquisite inlay of her desk. "I am not to be disturbed for any reason whatsoever, under penalty of my extreme displeasure." A subdued murmur acknowledging the command emerged from the air above the desk. She leaned back for a moment and closed her eyes, considering. A tiny hiss escaped her lips.

She walked over and activated the lock on her door, then pressed a switch that energized a rather nasty forcefield over the opening. A brief circuit of the room confirmed that her anti-monitoring devices were operational. The concealed cover inside her drinks cabinet slid aside to reveal a switch. The switch activated a panel, which slid aside to reveal a tiny comm. The keypad beneath the comm was larger than the comm itself. A bewildering array of symbols covered the controls, including letters and numbers from more than sixteen different languages, living and dead. Very few of them were ever used by races native to the quadrant she currently inhabited.

Her fingers flew across the pad, inputting a 23 digit alpha-numeric code from memory. The code changed twice daily, but she was perfectly confident that she had entered it correctly. She waited patiently until a soft voice spoke in an obscure Klingon dialect.

"Our agent is aboard the Human ship. The primary target remains uncompromised for now, but the interrogation has been restrained."

"Understandable," she replied, using the same language. "They will take no risk of damaging this prize until she arrives at the Human homeworld, where their Master Interrogators can work on her."

"_The agent will attempt to divert the ship to your location, but he is not sanguine about the possibility."_

She smiled coldly, quite fearless since the speaker could not see her. "Would you divert to a pleasure planet for shore leave if you had an enemy captain in your brig?"

"Humans are unpredictable, and often irrational. It is not impossible. But I agree that even Humans are not likely to be so foolish. The agent will likely be forced to complete his mission alone. This is unfortunate in the extreme."

"Why?" She tensed. "Is he unreliable?"

"He is a hireling. A piece of debris left from the V'Las administration. He will place his own survival above completion of the mission. If captured, he will certainly bargain for his life. Unfortunately no other assassin was available and the need was imperative."

Her eyes were hooded. "I have found Humans to be not overly intelligent. If he is minimally competent, he should be able to accomplish the mission."

"_Which leads inexorably to the next point. The secondary target is en route to Risa."_

Both of her eyebrows climbed nearly to her hairline. "If it were within the realm of possibility, I would be tempted to suspect that you are joking."

"By the sheer laws of probability, it was inevitable that something would go right. We have confirmed that the secondary target is a passenger aboard the Andorian freighter Lerteiran. ETA is 16.3 days, local time. Are you prepared?"

"I will be," she assured him. "This requires careful planning. You are aware that in addition to being a powerful telepath, the target is also blood kin to the Darkblades? Most of the Betazoids are merely empathic, but there are a few purebloods who also possess full telepathic abilities. It will be necessary to lure him to a location well away from his kin and all witnesses."

"_Do what is required. His knowledge must die. This is not optional."_

"Understood."

A final click signaled the end of the conversation. She returned her office to its normal configuration with a thoughtful expression stamped on her face.

#

Sehlra sat for a time after T'Riss left, shaking her head. "Not a bad idea, really," she finally muttered. She started to stand up, but paused. A strange feeling came over her, part mischievous naughtiness and part excitement. He did say that if she ever needed something…

No. She couldn't. She shouldn't. After all… besides, she wasn't…but he did say…

Sehlra felt a small shiver run over her. "Why not?" she whispered to herself. She looked around. The engine room was empty, just as it was supposed to be. No one would see her. And it probably wouldn't work anyway.

The Andorian woman touched her lips with her tongue and hesitantly leaned forward, propping her forehead on her palms. She closed her eyes and concentrated, trying to keep her breathing deep and even the way Damin had instructed. She made a picture in her mind of his face and tried to form a clear thought that she wanted him to come. Nothing seemed to be happening. Maybe she needed to do something else.

Sehlra took another deep breath and concentrated on remembering the sound of his voice, the way his face had looked the night before as they lay talking before sleep. She remembered the way his lips had… no. Better not go there. She firmly dragged her thoughts back to the business at hand. He said words didn't usually work for non-telepaths. It would be better if she just concentrated on emotional messages. She wanted him to come. She kept pushing that thought. She wanted him to come. She wanted him. She wanted him. She wanted him…

A hand touched her shoulder. "I'm here." Sehlra jumped halfway out of her chair and gasped in astonishment. Damin grinned. "You didn't think it would work? You underestimate yourself."

She swallowed her internal organs. "I didn't think you heard me. I didn't get anything." He nodded.

"I know. I tried to answer you, but you couldn't 'hear' me," he said with a tinge of disappointment. He brightened, "But I heard you loud and clear. And it wasn't just because I was listening. Although I was," he admitted.

Sehlra felt a blush creep up her face. "You were listening to my thoughts?"

"I wasn't really reading you," he looked down bashfully. "Just monitoring. I was hoping you would call for me." Warmth started spreading from her middle all over. Her face broke into a smile without being told to. His answering smile would have made a core breach endurable.

"Now that I'm here, how may I serve my lady?' Damin bowed with an impish glint in his eye. She snickered and reached up, to which he gladly responded. A tight embrace with foreheads pressed together brought back vivid memories of the night before. Sehlra shivered and pulled back.

"Better hold off for a bit, or I won't get any work done."

"Do you absolutely have to?" Damin asked slyly. "Everything looks pretty smooth down here to me."

"Yes, I have to," she told him firmly. "Don't tempt me."

"But tempting you is my job," he complained.

Her chuckle burst into a full throated laugh and she grabbed him for another embrace. This time he took the chance to run his hands over her back, and then let them wander a bit. "No," she finally said, pushing him away. "I mean it. No. I want you to do something for me." She tried to get her breath and straighten her clothing.

Damin sighed and pouted. "For you, anything. What is your desire? The heart of a neutron star perhaps? A bucket of dark matter? An ocean of chocolate? Name it my love, and it is yours."

She looked at him sideways. "Sometimes I can almost believe you mean that."

"And someday," he told her, with his face growing serious, "I will prove to you that I do mean it."

"Well, right now all I want is for you to check something, and then try to help me figure out something." She told him about her talk with T'Riss.

"Oh." Damin pondered. "She threw him into a wall and broke some bones?" He raised a brow at her, chuckling. "In all justice, Sehlra, you have to admit the boy has reason to be cautious."

"That may be all there is to it," she said. "But right now I want to make sure that she is serious. Once I'm sure of that, I can figure out what to do with Daniel."

His lips twitched. "Of course."

She hesitated. "I mean." Sehlra searched for the right words. "If it's not too much trouble. I don't really know how hard this is on you. If it hurts, or if it…"

Damin raised his hand. "No problem. This is what I do. Even if it did hurt I would do it for you, but it's no trouble. If I had a ship and it had engine problems would you think there was something wrong with me asking you for help?"

"No," she smiled. "All right. Go ahead. I mean, whenever you're ready."

"No time like the present," he told her. Damin sat down on the deck and leaned back against a bulkhead. She watched his eyes half close and start to look glassy for several minutes. A few faint whispers came from his lips, but nothing clear enough for her to detect. Finally he stirred and looked up.

"Fairly straightforward," he told her, blinking and shaking his head. "At least for T'Riss. She's serious. Her mind is made up."

"You're certain?" Sehlra asked, "I mean, you're certain that she's certain?"

Damin nodded emphatically. "You've got to remember something, Sehlra. Deep down inside, we all have to answer to our basic instincts. It doesn't matter what our training may tell us, sooner or later our bodies are going to demand that we respond to their needs."

She coughed. "I think I know that, young man." She gave him a look. "What does that have to do with T'Riss?"

"Vulcan instinct," he said. "It's pretty simple. Really. She is a Vulcan female. Daniel fought for her. He killed her previous mate. Now she belongs to him."

Sehlra blinked and stared. "Are you serious?"

"Mm-hm," he told her, standing up and stretching. "T'Riss is not even consciously aware of most of this. She tells herself that Daniel is a logical choice because he's intelligent, healthy, and has good economic prospects. Which are all true. She also tells herself that she's never going to find anyone else who would be willing to accept her, as damaged as she is, unless she agrees to having a big chunk of her mind and memory carved out as therapy. That may or may not be true. But none of that matters, because none of it is the real reason she wants him."

"But," Sehlra floundered. "Jenrali was right up there in the control room too. Why doesn't she go after him?"

Damin grinned. "Daniel saw her when she was still a slave," he explained, "and he tried to get her out. He asked Grigor-Tel to borrow her. Now this may sound strange, but to Vulcan instincts, that sounded pretty close to a challenge." At the expression on Sehlra's face he added, "Seriously. It was like Daniel told him, 'Hey. I want that one. Give her to me' or some such thing. At least, that was the way her instincts reacted. Then, when T'Riss hired_ Lerteiran_ to go after Grigor-Tel it was as if she was choosing Daniel to be her champion."

Sehlra shook her head. "And she's not interested in Jenrali because Daniel saw her first?"

"Well," Damin shrugged. "That, and Daniel's hand was on the weapon that actually killed Grigor-Tel. Plus she thinks he looks tasty." Sehlra snorted and they both grinned.

Sehlra sat down heavily. "And she doesn't really understand what she's doing? Can you tell her?"

"I could," Damin admitted. "but why? The reasons that she is telling herself are perfectly valid. Aren't they?"

"Oh, my." Sehlra sat in silence for a while. "I need to find out what is going through Daniel's head."

"Not a problem," Damin started to say. He paused at Sehlra's upthrust palm.

"No. T'Riss gave permission to have you check her. Daniel didn't." She paused, grimacing. "I suppose I'll just have to talk to him."

Damin suggested, "Maybe I can talk to him. Sometimes men will say things to each other that we won't say to women."

"Good idea," She nodded, relieved. "If that doesn't work, I'll try it. We need to get this settled, one way or the other."

#

"Selim," Raijiin told him firmly, "she is a member of this crew. She is here to carry out her duty. Furthermore, she is here to ensure your safety and health. I am disappointed in the illogic of your behavior."

The Vulcan boy stiffened and shot her a look of irritation, but he turned back to T'Riss and said, "I ask pardon for my earlier outburst, Crewman. I will comply with your wishes." He forced it out between clenched teeth, but he got the words out. Raijiin smiled brightly and rewarded him with a hug. Her eyes met T'Riss's gaze over the boy's shoulder as she held him motionless long enough for a proper scan, and she projected her desire for reconciliation to T'Riss as best as she was able without physical contact. They had been friends once, or at least allies.

T'Riss ignored her, obviously not yet prepared to consider reinstituting friendly relations, and scanned the boy with brisk efficiency. "You appear to be in optimum condition, Selim," she told him.

"As I have already informed you, Crewman T'Riss," he replied stiffly. The youngster pulled himself up straight and put on an aggrieved expression. "This incessant harassment is unwarranted."

T'Riss told him, "It is not harassment, it is a precaution. Given your established behavior patterns, I consider you fortunate not have been placed in restraints for the duration of this voyage." She snapped the med scanner closed. "If you continue to provoke hostile relations with the senior partners of this vessel you may yet achieve that state."

The boy flinched backward a trifle and Raijiin enfolded him protectively. "He's been a model of proper behavior," Raijiin protested. "It's just that Sehlra has no patience at all. It's obvious that she lacks experience with children."

T'Riss raised a brow. "Sehlra? She has..." She paused, evidently reconsidering whatever personal revelation she'd been on the verge of making about her superior officer. Raiijin wondered what it was, and wondered at the loyalty that prompted T'Riss not to reveal it. "No matter. The issue is moot. You are passengers. In effect, guests. It is the place of guests to adapt their behavior to the convenience of the host, not vice versa." She gave Selim a direct look. "Were you not taught this as part of your earliest indoctrination?"

Selim looked at the deckplates and shuffled his feet. Finally he muttered a nearly inaudible, "Yes."

Raijiin started to speak in the boy's defense but halted with her mouth half-open at the sight of Senek's raised hand. She subsided reluctantly and gritted her teeth. He was right, as usual. Selim was Vulcan. Despite his unusual empathic abilities and the trauma he'd suffered he would eventually have to learn proper cultural etiquette. T'Riss went on.

"Do you anticipate your sister's approval when she is informed of your ongoing pattern of insubordination toward the command crew of this ship?"

Selim winced. "No."

"I recommend," T'Riss finished up, "that you consider these matters during meditation. It is not logical to permit your emotional assumptions to interfere with your plain duty."

"Understood," Selim sighed. T'Riss nodded and headed for the exit hatch, to the visible relief of the other passengers. Raijiin found it highly amusing that the courtesans aboard regarded T'Riss as being only slightly more dangerous than the average Klingon merely because she had snatched their former Madam by the throat and held her in the air with one hand while snarling like a wild beast. Meanwhile they shared quarters with three seasoned operatives of the Vulcan Security Directorate without any trepidation whatsoever. Ironic indeed.

Selim turned to her with resignation in his voice and said, "I should meditate as instructed. May we schedule a game of Kal-Toh for this evening after I have finished?"

"Of course," she told him with a smile and a peck on the forehead. The boy managed to keep from smiling at her, but his joy at her open expression of affection fell over her like a warm blanket. Selim stepped briskly over to his assigned bunk and drew the privacy curtains, leaving Raijiin to sigh and grimace. He was such a sensitive little soul. She found it so tragic that he'd been born a Vulcan.

"T'Riss had no reason to lecture him so harshly," she complained to Senek, walking over to join him in what had come to be known as "the Vulcan's corner". Llahir glanced up from sharpening his belt knife and looked thoughtful.

"If I may," he tentatively offered. Raijiin sat down next to the battle scarred warrior and offered him a smile even warmer than the one she had given Selim.

"Of course you may," she told him. She wondered if he would catch the implied double meaning. Since the start of their voyage Llahir had slowly opened up, to Raijiin at least. His interest in her was obvious to both her and Senek. Not being one to let serendipity escape his grasp, Senek had advised her to encourage Llahir's interest as part of the Directorate's campaign to keep him. This was indeed convenient, since Raijiin had decided to do it anyway. She was starting to find the mysterious Vulcan who thought like a Romulan to be one of the most fascinating men she had ever met. The aura of tightly disciplined danger that he projected only added to the spice.

Llahir put his sharpening stone back into its case, placed a drop of oil from a small vial on to the blade of his knife and wiped with a cloth to spread it, buffing the metal to mirror brightness. The knife looked very old to Raijiin, very primitive. The runes etched on the bone handle were in a script that looked somewhat like ancient Vulcan, but subtle differences made it unreadable to her. Llahir held it up for her inspection when he noticed her interest in it.

"Is it Romulan or Vulcan?" she asked, taking the handle in her hands. She knew enough about ancient weaponry to know not to touch the blade.

"Neither…and both, I suppose," he told her. "It is a Pre-Sundering artifact I picked up on Romulus. It is said that at one time knives such as these were passed on from father to son as a mark of heirship among those who took shelter beneath the raptor's wings." He took the knife reverently from her. "That explains its excellent condition, no doubt, although I doubt that this blade bears the original haft it bore upon their departure from Vulcan."

"It's beautiful," replied Raijiin.

"And quite useful," agreed Llahir blandly as he slipped it back into the well-oiled leather scabbard on his belt. "I would be dead four times over were it not for this blade."

"Four times? That little thing?" said Raijiin, taken aback. She looked at the compact weapon, its blade barely the length of her hand, with new respect.

"Size is irrelevant if you know what to do with it," Llahir replied in all seriousness. It was all Raijiin could do not to smirk at the double entendre, and she expected at least an ironic eyebrow raise from Llahir. When none materialized she studied his face curiously. Was he serious?

"There are four immediate kill areas in Vulcanoids which are within reach of a blade this size…and several which will disable an attacker and result in death within hours without treatment," added Llahir. "Would you like me to teach you?" His tone was matter-of-fact and not the least bit flirtatious. Despite her experience with the use of small pointed objects in close quarters Raijjin had never been formally instructed in such matters. The opportunity was impossible to pass up. It was also a very convenient excuse to spend even more time in the company of this fascinating man. She smiled at him, a brief and restrained smile in deference to her new Vulcan identity, but one of genuine pleasure.

"I would absolutely _love_ for you to teach me…everything," she purred. That got an eyebrow raise. At least the man wasn't totally oblivious.

"Perhaps I should point out, then," he said under his breath, "that based on my experience as a Security Directorate operative it is my belief that behaving the way you have been behaving with Selim is not only hampering the boy's reacclimation to Vulcan culture but also risking your cover. These women may 'only' be professional sex workers, but they are not blind, and they plan to seek employment on Risa, where you presumably will be establishing a cover identity as a Vulcan. I would strongly advise that you begin behaving accordingly." Raijiin's ire began to build, and she opened her mouth to argue with him, but an abrupt and authoritative motion of his hand silenced her by reflex. Old habits died hard. He continued calmly. "Although I plan to retire from the Security Directorate as soon as I am permitted to do so, and therefore have little interest in the plans of that organization, I would nevertheless prefer that your cover remains intact for personal reasons. Risking your cover identity risks your safety. In that, I am most certainly interested." His expression softened and his dark eyes met hers with a surprisingly smoldering look. She blinked at that, smiled just the tiniest bit, and suddenly she wasn't angry with him anymore.

#

Hoshi Sato looked up from the padd in her hands to find the dining hall deserted. She glanced at the wall chronometer. It was easy for her to lose track of time while translating but she usually didn't phase out this long. Three hours had passed since Malcolm had sent her for food. It was odd that he hadn't yet called her to return.

_I really should stop thinking of him by his given name. It might come out that way some time on duty, _she thought_. _Despite his recent bending of the no-frat rules, Hoshi was pretty sure that the image-conscious Brit wouldn't like it if rumors of their almost-romance became common knowledge aboard ship. Of course, there would be nothing to the rumors. She'd tried everything to get him interested in her. He'd seemed to notice at last, they'd had one awkward movie night in each other's company, and then nothing. Admittedly, no one aboard ship had had much free time since then to pursue personal interests, but it was still disappointing.

Hoshi rose from the table and left the mess hall, wondering about the outcome of the prisoner's interrogation by the Vulcan security officer. She felt little sympathy for the foul-mouthed Romulan woman, but being at Crewman Jowan's mercy wasn't something she would have wished on anyone. The Vulcan was just plain scary looking. Morbidly curious, she took the turbolift to the brig, determined to investigate. She arrived to find the brig empty and deserted. With a queasy feeling of foreboding Hoshi activated the comm.

"Sickbay." Liz Cutler's cheerful voice made Hoshi feel a bit better.

"Ah…Crewman Cutler…Ensign Sato here. You wouldn't happen to know where the Romulan prisoner has been transferred would you?"

"Sure thing, ma'am. She's back up here in medical observation. Lieutenant Reed and the captain are in the captain's ready room in conference with Dr. Phlox and the Vulcan officers concerning her condition. Should I notify them that you're available now?

"Now?" echoed Hoshi, puzzled. "Who said I wasn't available before?"

"Lieutenant Reed told the doctor that you needed some time to recover following your recent interrogation duty. The captain agreed to allow you some time to rest." Hoshi bit back an irritated reply. It wasn't Cutler's fault that Malcolm was over-protective and seriously under-demonstrative.

"Yes. Thank you. Please tell them that I'm on my way."

#

Damin climbed the ladder to the _Lerteiran's _bridge with care. In his left hand were two mugs of hot coffee balanced atop each other with a saucer in between. His right hand gripped the rungs to steady himself. As soon as his head passed the topmost rung Daniel was there to take the coffee from him.

"I could smell you coming," the Human said, grinning. "You didn't need to bring two cups, though. Jenrali's off duty."

"I know," said Damin with a diffident smile as he took a seat at the nav station and relieved Daniel of one cup. "The other cup's for me. It smells interesting. I decided to give it a try." He took a sip, then made a face.

"I suppose it is an acquired taste," Daniel acknowledged, and then promptly buried his face in his mug. A healthy sized gulp later he eased himself back into the chair at his station and sighed blissfully. "And I sure as hell have acquired it." Damin returned the smile briefly, and then his face sobered.

"We need to talk, Daniel. Sehlra's worried about you."

Daniel's eyes narrowed. "I see." He took another swig of coffee. "And that bothers you, I take it."

"It does," Damin replied in a matter-of-fact voice. Daniel's expression was skeptical.

"So what's she worried about this time?" he asked.

"Apparently her pet Vulcan has decided that you're the ideal mate, but just told Sehlra that the two of you are just sharing a bed platonically, and have been for over a week now," Damin told him. "Sehlra's convinced that there must be something wrong with you, but she's so embarrassed about discussing this situation with you that I volunteered to have the 'sex talk' with you."

Daniel smirked and shook his head. For some reason the statement seemed to amuse him. "She's really got you whipped, you know that?" he said. Damin just smiled in response. The mental picture of Sehlra dressed in black satin with a soft leather whip in hand was certainly arousing, but Damin doubted that Daniel meant his statement to be taken literally. Daniel gave him a strange look before continuing. He cleared his throat.

"Well, you can tell her that there's nothing wrong with me," he said. "I'm just being cautious, that's all."

"I understand that the last time you tried to be intimate she threw you across your quarters and broke your back," Damin offered over the rim of his cup. "It would make anyone cautious."

"That's only part of it," Daniel admitted. "It's a fair sized part, I admit."

"Really?" Damin looked surprised. "What's the rest? Is there some hidden disadvantage to marrying a Vulcan that I'm not aware of?"

Daniel sighed and leaned back, looking at his control console for a minute. "Yeah. For a Human there is."

Damin set his cup down quietly, folded his hands together and leaned forward. "Daniel," he spoke in a calm, friendly tone. "I'm not trying to intrude. Honestly. But Sehlra is really concerned. You don't owe me anything, naturally. But I really do care about her. And she really cares about you. So if I can help in any way, don't even think about hesitating to ask."

Daniel coughed nervously and shook his head. "You can't. This is biological." He fingered his cup indecisively. "I don't... I haven't even had time to talk to T'Riss about this yet." Damin just looked at him. "All right, I'm lying. I've had time, but I've been chicken."

Damin looked even more interested. "This must be something serious. Maybe it would help to have someone to talk about it with. I swear I won't tell anyone except Sehlra."

"That's the thing," Daniel drained his cup. "I don't even want Sehlra to know about this yet."

Damin ran a hand through his hair, grimacing. Keeping something from Sehlra was a tricky proposition now. He'd have to guard his thoughts even more stringently while they _tlasped_ to avoid inadvertently revealing something which concerned her so closely. His distant past was easy to conceal when he focused on the goal of protecting her from those that would seek to do him harm by harming her. Now he'd have to worry about not revealing current concerns as well, at least until she found out on her own, which hopefully wouldn't be long. Damin sighed. "All right," he conceded. "I won't tell Sehlra anything except that it was personal and private man talk. Good enough? "

Daniel looked torn, then let his shoulders slump. "Once a Human bonds with a Vulcan it's permanent. Breaking the bond will kill us."

"Ow." Damin sat back and shook his head ruefully. "No wonder you're proceeding with caution. And T'Riss is not aware of this?"

"Not that I know of," Daniel told him.

"How did you find this out?" Damin asked him.

"I... know someone who is bonded to a Vulcan," Daniel replied evasively. "It's not supposed to be repeated. If it gets out they'll both get into trouble."

"Tucker and T'Pol," Damin nodded. Daniel straightened and stared.

"They told you?" he asked incredulously.

"No." Damin shrugged. "I'm a telepath, remember? I can sense when two minds are welded together as tightly as that pair. Honestly, sometimes it's hard to tell where one stops and the other one starts."

Daniel nodded agreement. "That's the thing. Phlox told me that Trip's body depends on T'Pol's brain to function now. If she dies, his body will shut down." He drew a hand across his throat and made a scritch sound.

Damin rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I suppose I might as well tell you something. T'Riss wanted Sehlra to be certain of her sincerity, so she asked Sehlra to have me probe her to confirm it." Daniel's brow darkened. Damin held up a hand. "I didn't go very deep. I didn't need to. You are the single most important subject on her mind right now. And the answer is yes. She is most definitely sincere about wanting to marry you and spend her life with you. You are the one she wants. No question."

Daniel blinked. "No question?" Damin nodded. "She's not concerned about me being Human? What about her family?"

Damin winced. "T'Riss has decided that her family will disown her anyway…partly because she surrendered and let herself become a slave, but mainly because of what happened when she kidnapped you, disobeyed orders, sabotaged a Fleet vessel, and hired a ship full of aliens to murder her bonded mate. Their opinion is not weighing on her mind. She has already given up on them."

"But..." Daniel stopped, rubbing his hands over his thighs. "This..." He shook his head. "I really need to talk to her."

"That's always an option," Damin said lightly. "You could actually discuss what's bothering you. But now that you know she's serious, how do you feel about marrying her?"

"I just..." Daniel struggled. "I don't know if I can be the husband she needs." It all came out in a hurried rush. He looked down at the deck. "I'm not sure I can give her what she needs. I'm Human. How can I even be sure what she'll need from me, much less give it to her?"

"Well, there's that talking option again," Damin suggested. "But I can tell you something else. You may not believe it, and I'll bet my favorite pair of fur lined handcuffs that no Vulcan would accept it, but your two species are more alike than different. Very much alike. If it weren't for the fact that you have different colored blood, I would be sorely tempted to suspect a common origin."

Daniel snorted and laughed. "Don't say that in the cargo hold. Not if you value your hide."

"I'm not suicidal," Damin grinned. "Tucker and T'Pol seem to be making it work."

"Yeah." Daniel looked thoughtful. "They do. Trip is about as Human as it gets. And T'Pol doesn't look to me like she's had to compromise her Vulcan nature. They make it work somehow."

"What happens to the Vulcan partner if the Human dies?" Damin wanted to know.

"I... don't know." Daniel admitted. "Phlox didn't mention that part. Neither did Trip. Maybe it wouldn't have any physical effect."

"Maybe not physical," Damin told him, "but I guarantee there'd be a mental effect."

Daniel's expression turned to one of dismay. Damin could sense the Human's unease. "When Grigor-Tel died T'Riss went into some kind of fit. Screaming and thrashing... she was really hurting."

"She wasn't really attached to him, was she?" Damin asked. "I mean, they weren't bondmates in the true sense of the word. She didn't really have an emotional investment in him, right?"

"Um," Daniel pointed out, "since she hired us to kill him, I'd say not."

"So picture what she went through then," Damin told him, "then extrapolate what she would go through if a mate died that she really cared about."

An expression of sympathetic pain came over Daniel's face. After a moment he said, "There's still the whole issue of her panic attacks. T'Riss has been through a lot. She thinks she's ready to move on, but I don't agree. The last time we tried to have sex all it took was a second for her to panic and throw me across the room. To be honest, I think the fact that she hurt me damaged her more than it damaged me. And she can't afford more damage. You understand?" The young Human's distress was palpable from across the room and through the shields Damin kept solid in deference to Sehlra's wish that he not attempt a reading without the boy's permission. He obviously had genuine affection and concern for the Vulcan girl, and she for him.

Damin clarified. "You don't wish to cause her more damage, and in your opinion if she accidentally injures you during the act it will damage her."

Daniel grimaced self-consciously. "I guess when you put it that way it does sound pretty arrogant… but it seems to me that it really did pile a lot of guilt on her."

"You say she panicked," said Damin. "Precisely what behavior triggered the panic? Was it the act of penetration?"

Daniel shook his head. "No! We never even got close to that," he replied in a frustrated tone. "All I did was roll on top of her, and suddenly I was hitting the bulkhead at high velocity." The problem and its solution suddenly became clear to Damin.

"She's afraid of sexual aggressiveness," he said. "So don't be the aggressor." Daniel gave him a puzzled look. Damin sighed. The boy truly was an innocent.

"She's fearful of what might happen if you take the lead," Damin explained. "It's not that uncommon in victims of violent sexual assault. I've seen it in some of my clients. Many of them prefer to be the dominant partner because they've been forced in the past to be unwillingly submissive. Once they are allowed to be dominant they can lose their fear of the submissive role, but it takes time and patience."

Daniel chuckled. "You sound more like a sex therapist than a… a…"

"Prostitute?" finished Damin. He smiled a wry smile. "I have never been 'just' a sex worker, Daniel."

"So, it's that simple? Just let her take the lead?" asked Daniel in a skeptical tone.

"It might be a bit more complicated than that, depending on her sensitivity," acknowledged Damin. "You may need to remain completely passive…entirely motionless…until she gains confidence."

"Entirely motionless? I'm not sure I can do that," protested Daniel. "I mean, I get to a point where I just operate on instinct, you know?" Damin shrugged.

"So use restraints," he replied. He grinned at Daniel's disbelieving expression. "You never know. You might actually enjoy the experience. I can lend you some. Would you prefer braided silk ropes or fur-lined leather cuffs?"

#

"A Vulcan healing trance? I thought this woman was Romulan," said Captain Archer, sounding even more confused than Malcolm felt, and that was saying a lot.

"Not precisely," explained Dr. Phlox. "I was just trying to explain it in understandable terms. Her higher cortical functions are suppressed now in a fashion that looks precisely like a healing trance to my instruments." He nodded at the impassive pair of Vulcans sitting across the table from him. "Thanks to Centurian Solis and Crewman Jowan, though, we have a more accurate explanation for her condition."

"Right. A telepathically implanted defense against mind probes. How bloody convenient," growled Malcolm. The captain's look was reproving. Malcolm couldn't help it. He didn't trust the Vulcans. The Romulan had been verbal enough, even though not cooperative, until Jowan had attempted a mind meld with her. Now she was useless as an information source to anyone without telepathy. It _was_ convenient - convenient for the Vulcans. He exchanged a look with Hoshi. She smiled briefly in sympathy.

"I would like to propose a solution to this difficulty, if I may, gentlemen," rumbled Jowan with surprising politeness. The captain gave him a tolerant nod. Malcolm crossed his arms over his chest, leaned back in his chair, and waited. The Vulcan centurion said nothing, yielding the floor to his subordinate.

"An implanted mental defense of this sort can be reversed, but only by a telepath who knows precisely what changes were made in the subject's thought patterns when the shield was initially placed," said Jowan.

"Can you reverse it?" asked the captain point-blank.

"No," admitted Jowan. "It would require considerably more familiarity with the subject than I currently possess. Our best option would be to locate the telepath who made the changes to begin with. Fortunately, I was able to extract that information from the subject before the defensive shield blocked my access to her memories. Her shield was implanted by a telepath who was at the time employed by the Tal Shiar."

"A telepathic Romulan?" asked Hoshi, sounding intrigued.

"Not entirely. He was a Romulan/Betazoid crossbreed specifically bred for service to the Tal Shiar," said Jowan.

"Bred by whom?" asked Phlox.

"By the subject herself. He was her son," was Jowan's surprising answer.

"That's certainly interesting," commented Malcolm, "but I don't see how it helps us, since we've got no chance of enlisting the help of a Tal Shiar operative, not to mention the impossibility of finding the man."

"It is not as challenging a prospect as you might think, Lieutenant," claimed Jowan. "The telepath in question has been aboard _Enterprise_ within the past two weeks and is currently en route to Risa aboard an Andorian freighter, a freighter which is under transport contract to the Vulcan Security Directorate."

"Damin?" said Hoshi in a shocked voice. Malcolm shook his head ruefully, angry with himself. The frilly little bugger was the key to the whole thing, and he'd let him get away without interrogation. The captain exhaled, his jaw set.

"All right, then. It looks like we're going to Risa," he said.

#

Stern left the Healer's Hall with padd in hand and strode down the wide pedestrian thoroughfare of the Shi'Kahr university district. Fountains, positioned at regular intervals, cooled the ambient temperature by several degrees and provided a welcome hint of moisture in the air. Eating establishments lined the terraced rocky pathway, and students of all persuasions sat at tables outdoors, the murmur of their conversations competing with the muted splash of the fountains. It would have been a pleasant stroll had he not had such an unpleasant task waiting for him at the end of it. As he approached the Engineering Hall he noted a change in the manner of dress of the students around him as builder's brown became predominant over healer's green. His robes called attention to him, their vivid green color drawing stares from those around him. Healers and builders had little in common during their courses of training and so rarely mingled.

In the courtyard in front of the hall a group of students dressed in brown were in the process of constructing a huge stone arch. Its purpose was not immediately apparent, but it was graceful despite its size and aesthetically appealing. It had the mark of T'Kara about it. As he noted this, he saw her in the center of activity, her sturdy legs braced as she steadied a massive stone block above her head, all the while instructing the men manning the ropes which held the block suspended above her. It settled into place with a ground-vibrating thud and a puff of dust, the centerpiece of a Pre-Surak looking stone arch, elaborately engraved, no doubt by T'Kara herself. The result was primitive, impressive, and barbarically beautiful. Stern paused to admire it. T'Kara caught sight of him and began walking toward him with the air of someone eager to share good news. She slowed when she got close enough to see the expression on his face. He walked to meet her, resigned to the prospect of disappointing her. They met in the center of the walkway, on public display, and then turned toward the nearest eating establishment and their usual private table without touching each other. Side by side they walked, her brown-haired head barely reaching his green-clad shoulder, her brown robes hiding the stone dust which always seemed to follow her in a cloud wherever she went. He'd stopped minding it long ago, just as she'd stopped remarking on the faint odor of the dissecting room that clung to his clothing.

"An impressive structure…and beautiful," he offered.

"I am gratified that you think so," she returned. They walked in silence for several seconds.

"I was unsuccessful in influencing my parents' decision," he admitted without looking at her. "We depart for Risa following my end-of-term examinations tomorrow."

"I see," said T'Kara. She took a deep breath, never pausing in her stride. "That is regrettable. I would have preferred another outcome."

"As would I," replied Stern. He turned his head to look at her finally. She looked grim, but accepting. They reached an alcove in relative privacy, and he turned to her, offered the ozh'esta. Her eyes met his, distress apparent in them, and she completed the gesture, touching her fingers to his. _Pain, longing, grief _assailed him. He closed his eyes.

"I am honor-bound to meet this girl and to assess her as a potential mate," he told her. He opened his eyes again. "But I am not honor-bound to find her acceptable." His voice was gentle. Instead of accepting his reassurance T'Kara pulled her fingers from his and gave him a reproving look.

"You would defy your parents in this and pre-judge the girl even before meeting her? How is that conducive to family harmony?" T'Kara was a traditionalist. Her chosen profession attracted them. It was the primary reason why they were not yet bonded. T'Kara's parents had no objection to her union with a healer/melder. They were simple people without university educations, but more welcoming and tolerant than any other individuals of their generation that Stern had ever met. T'Kara had not been betrothed as a child, as her parents had decided to leave the choice to her. Where she'd acquired her traditional beliefs with such unorthodox and non-traditional parents Stern had no idea. She and Stern had discussed the issue of parental approval for months now. He had nearly convinced her to defy his parents' objections, and then his mother had found an "ideal" betrothal candidate for him. Stern's father was generally easy to convince provided his wife was in agreement. Stern's mother was the impediment.

"My mother's opinion of you is not logical. I will convince her of this eventually, but it may take time." He quietly repeated a plea that he'd made many times before. "You know that there is an alternative. Come away with me. We will leave Shi'Kahr and make our own family, just the two of us."

"I will not bond with you without your mother's consent, Stern," T'Kara said softly. "My children will know and be accepted by their grandparents. My parents' unorthodox choices have separated them from their families and inflicted great pain on everyone involved. I will not inflict such pain on my own children." She lifted her chin. "You will go to Risa and assess the mate that your parents have found for you. If she is an appropriate choice, you will marry her. It is the most logical course."

"And if my preference is not to follow the most logical course in this instance?" he challenged. It was a daring game they played, the pretense that logic was not always the best guide for behavior. T'Kara's fascination for Pre-Surak culture created a paradox for Stern, a woman not always ruled by logic. He'd learned to stretch his tolerance for illogic and to enjoy the experience. T'Kara's lips twitched slightly.

"Then you will return home to me, having convinced your mother to approve of our union," she replied. "And I will be here waiting for you, unless it becomes necessary for me to do otherwise."

#

T'Riss returned to the cabin she shared with Daniel and began the process of cleaning it to Vulcan Space Fleet specifications. Daniel was tidy and surprisingly well-organized for a Human, but she considered it her responsibility to sanitize surfaces within the cabin at intervals to limit the risk of offensive odors and transmissible bacteria.

She pulled the bedclothes from the bunk and changed them. The slight musky odor they emanated reminded her of the "lessons" Daniel had been offering during their past several rest periods. Her training with Mistress Natolya had not prepared her for the myriad ways that two consenting adults might contrive to pleasure each other without actually engaging in intercourse. She gathered the sheets together in a bundle and pressed them to her face, inhaling deeply. They smelled of Daniel and perspiration, both Human and Vulcan. A most arousing combination.

T'Riss gathered the shreds of her control and threw the sheets in the center of the floor. Then she proceeded to the small head adjoining the cabin and began a general scrub of all surfaces.

"Honey! I'm home!" came Daniel's cheerful voice from the cabin. For some reason the announcement seemed to amuse him. "I'll take the sheets to wash. Be right back."

Once finished in the bathroom, T'Riss re-entered the cabin to find it empty save for something coiled on the bunk. After a moment of inspection, she recognized it with a sudden pang of dismay. A length of rope. She reached out hesitantly to pick it up. It was made of silky material, smooth to the skin and thick around as a finger. She could think of only one reason why Daniel might have such a thing. She swallowed and closed her eyes, trying to fight the memory of being tied naked face-down with just such a rope, pillows elevating her hips, the ponfarr microbe burning in her brain forcing her to crave violation over and over again…

"TRiss? You okay?" Daniel's concerned voice broke her concentration. Grateful for the interruption, she opened her eyes. Words wouldn't come, so she held the rope out to him in a silent question. He turned a peculiar shade of red. "I…um…borrowed it from Damin," he said with a sheepish grin. "He suggested that it might help…um…things."

"You discussed our relationship with Damin?" T'Riss's initial reaction was one of affront. Their private sexual issues were not the telepath's concern. At Daniel's wince and rueful nod she reconsidered. It wasn't as if there were any other males aboard with more experience in sexual matters, and she found herself much opposed to the idea of her prospective mate seeking the advice of a female in this instance.

"He said this might decrease the chance of anybody getting hurt," said Daniel with a diffident shrug. "If the idea really bothers you then we don't have to use it…" His voice trailed off. T'Riss took a deep breath. Surprisingly, now that the surprise of finding the rope on their bed was over she discovered that she was in agreement with Damin. Submitting to restraints would be tremendously difficult, but with her extremities tied down she would be incapable of injuring Daniel. It was an outcome greatly preferable to the alternative. She tilted her head in acquiescence.

"He is correct. It is a safer alternative," she agreed.

Daniel smiled. "Okay, I'll go shower, then." He turned toward the head and disappeared through the door, calling over his shoulder. "We can eat in the cabin. I've got dinner heating." The sound of the shower followed. T'Riss took a deep calming breath, laid the coil of rope on the bed and left to retrieve their meals from the warmer in the galley. They had developed a custom of spreading towels on the deck in lieu of a table and sharing their evening meal while facing each other on cushions. Enacting such a daily ritual had begun to help T'Riss stabilize her uncertainties. It helped her start to think of Daniel's cabin as home.

But not tonight. The memory of the rope cut off all other thoughts just as surely as the bondage she'd endured on the station had cut off circulation to her extremities. She kept her eyes downcast through the beginning of the meal, only rarely stealing glances at Daniel while she ate the pasta primavera dish he'd chosen for her from the supplies they'd purchased from _Enterprise. _ The odor of the meat and gravy entrée that he preferred became more tolerable as she became accustomed to it. She noted that he seemed pensive, preoccupied by thoughts of their upcoming activities, no doubt.

"T'Riss." Daniel's voice captured her attention. She found him looking at her with unusual intensity.

"Yes, Daniel," she replied steadily. "How may I serve?"

"What?" He looked puzzled, and she suddenly realized that she had responded in the manner that Natolya had beaten into her, as a slave.

"I mean," she hurried to correct herself, "Yes, Daniel?"

He continued to look strangely at her for a time. "I need to talk to you about something important. I really should have brought this up before now. I know that. But I…" He stopped and looked away. "I've been scared to bring it up."

T'Riss felt her eyebrows elevate. "Why would you fear discussing something with me? Have I offended again in some way?"

"No! No, it's nothing you did." Daniel started to perspire, although their quarters remained at the same temperature as always. "It's just something I need to tell you. I mean, something about me. Or, I mean, it's something that I should have told you about me. I mean about us. I mean..." He stopped and looked lost.

"Whatever you may have done, Daniel," T'Riss assured him firmly, "I am willing to accept and overlook it. It could not have been anything too terrible. You are an honorable man."

"Not... um." He drew a deep breath. "I didn't actually do anything. It's about what I am. I mean," He closed his eyes. "It's about the two of us, and what happens when we bond."

T'Riss tilted her head curiously "You have additional information regarding the bond? Specific to a bonding between a Vulcan and a Human?"

"Yeah." He swallowed hard and blurted out, "Phlox and Trip told me some things when I was in sickbay on _Enterprise." _

"Indeed?" She placed her fingertips together and leaned forward with interest. "Please tell me."

Daniel simply sat for a while, exhibiting evidence of accelerated respiration. Finally, "If we bond, it can't ever be broken. If it is, I die. Simple as that."

T'Riss felt cold. "Are you certain of this?" she whispered.

"Phlox is," Daniel told her. "He said that Trip is a lot healthier because of the bond, but it all depends on T'Pol's brain helping to monitor Trip's systems. If she dies or the bond breaks his own brain won't know how to handle things and he'll just..." Daniel flipped a hand. "Drop dead."

T'Riss sat back, dismayed. "Now I understand why you have been hesitant about joining with me. It is entirely understandable, Daniel. Fortunately, I have been assured that the dissolution of our betrothal bond will cause no damage. For the remainder of the voyage I will relocate to the cargo hold. Once we reach Risa I…"

Daniel leaned across their plates and interrupted her with a kiss. Startled by his abruptness, T'Riss pulled back, only to find his hand at the back of her head. For a second she felt trapped; panic filled her, but she refused to let it control her actions. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose as Daniel's lips caressed hers with infinite gentleness. She forced herself to remain calm, forced herself to allow the kiss. Daniel's weight carried them down together atop the remnants of their dinner, and after a few rapid heartbeats his kiss had its usual effect. She found herself responding. A warmth filled her which had nothing to do with the meal she'd just eaten.

They finished the kiss lying side by side on the deck atop their towels, surrounded by an uncomfortable assortment of dishes and covered in a sticky smear of pasta and gravy. Daniel withdrew his lips and looked down at the mess between them, chuckling. Then he told her softly, "What gave you the foolish idea that I wanted you to move out? I've known about this since Phlox fixed my back."

T'Riss started shivering, only partly due to the temperature of the deck. Daniel's ability to find the humor in their current situation was quite beyond her capacity to comprehend. "Why did you not warn me of this? How could you hide this from me?"

"I was afraid," he admitted. "I was afraid I would lose you."

T'Riss blinked at him in shock. "You..." Her mouth worked without sound. "You cannot seriously intend to marry me now."

"Don't you want me anymore?" he asked her, sounding upset.

"Of course I want you," she told him indignantly. "Why do you think I…?" Abruptly she decided not to mention the rope. There was no logic in complicating an already tangled conversation. "My wishes are irrelevant. The danger to you is too great to risk."

"So you were planning to divorce me," Daniel said, with an expressionless face.

"No!" T'Riss protested.

"That's what it sounds like to me," he told her without evident emotion. "You were planning to break the bond. There is no risk to me unless you die before I do or unless you try to break our bond. You will outlive me by several years. You must, therefore, have intended to end our relationship, and now your plans have been thwarted by this news. There's no other logical conclusion."

She sat up, overcome with irritation. "That is an appalling example of illogic, Daniel."

"So you maintain that you intended to stay married to me once we bonded?"

"Yes!"

"And you had no intention of committing suicide?"

"No. Why would I commit suicide?"

"So if you aren't going to break the bond and your natural lifespan is a lot longer than mine, what difference does it make that breaking the bond means the end of my life? Logically." He waited with one brow raised and a disturbingly Vulcan expression on his face.

"Because..." She struggled. "Because I might be killed. Or I might contract a fatal disease."

"The same thing could happen to me," Daniel pointed out. "But neither of those things have happened, and there is no evidence to indicate that they're going to happen. Your objection is based entirely on fear."

She stopped with her mouth open. He was correct. Fear. She was afraid that he might suffer because of her—despite the fact that there was no evidence to support her fear.

"Cast out fear. There is no room for anything else until you cast out fear," she quoted pensively.

"Good advice," Daniel told her. Suddenly he grinned and reached out. "I could really use another kiss right about now. Would you mind?"

Since he was still her betrothed, at least for now, she decided it would be appropriate to accede to his request.

#

Jenrali sat on the bridge at the beginning of his shift, sipping coffee and nibbling on a leftover muffin. Daniel had passed him in the corridor on his way to his cabin carrying a coil of rope, of all things, and seemed unusually cheerful now that he was sharing a cabin with T'Riss. Sehlra had been walking around for the past week with a silly grin on her face thanks to her new boy toy. Jenrali was now the only member of _Lerteiran's_ original crew who was sleeping alone.

Jenrali's single status rarely bothered him anymore. It had been decades since he'd shared a bed on a regular basis with anyone, and he certainly wished the lovers well. All of them. It was just that the situation drove home his solitary existence in a way that he'd not had to face in years. It wasn't putting him in a very good mood.

He checked the systems' status boards one after another, discovering nothing amiss, and then settled in with a padd in hand. The long hauls between systems were perfect for reading. He'd read all the Andorian offerings in the ship's library over the years and was now working on an Andorian translation of a Human novella called "The Old Man and the Sea". Minutes later he was pulled out of the old man's fight with the marlin by the sound of an incoming subspace message. The source was the Vulcan ship _Sehlat; _the intended recipient was T'Riss, and it was encoded. Jenrali studied the screen, conflicted and annoyed. The girl had given him no cause to mistrust her since she'd been assigned as crew, but the same could not be said for the captain and crew of the _Sehlat. _The greenbloods should know better than to send an encoded message to his ship. It was a violation of every security protocol he'd ever learned in his career to receive such a transmission without at least attempting to discover its contents, and a violation of T'Riss's trust to make the attempt. He got on the comm to the engine room.

"Sehlra, come up here. I need to talk to you about something."

#

"Are you certain of this, Daniel?" she looked worried.

He ran his hands over her back. "I've never been more certain of anything in my life. Are you still sure about this?"

T'Riss gave him a look that was only a hair short of a glare. "My decision was made long ago, Daniel. Yes, I am still certain that I wish to become your bonded mate."

He kissed her again. "All right, then. Let me dump the dishes and take another shower. This stuff is soaking through my underwear."

"Agreed," she told him. "While you are gone I will clean the debris from the deck."

"Okay," he told her. "Then I guess you can get the rope ready." He smiled. T'Riss firmed her chin grimly and nodded.

Daniel wasn't sure what he'd expected after their mutual decision to try the silken rope. Eager anticipation was perhaps too much to hope for, but the look she shot him as he left was not what he would call romantic.

When he returned to the cabin after collecting their dishes and washing them in the galley he found T'Riss seated on the floor in the center of the room meditating, her smooth black cap of hair still damp from the shower.

He stood regarding her for a moment, puzzled, and then ducked into the head to scrub off the gravy and brush his teeth. A few minutes later he re-entered the room dressed for bed in grey sweatpants and a t-shirt. It was then that he discovered the reason for her strange behavior.

T'Riss sat on her heels, nude in the center of the bed. She'd managed to double-knot one end of the silken rope around her left wrist. The main length of the rope passed beneath the bedframe and to the other side, between the far side of the mattress and the bulkhead. She held the other end in her right hand. With downcast eyes, a heaving chest, and a faint tremor in her fingers she held it out to him.

It was an exquisitely erotic picture, in other circumstances a sight which would have made any man's top ten list of sexual fantasies. Had Daniel not known otherwise, he might have mistaken the olive flush of T'Riss's skin, the sheen of perspiration on her brow, and her rapid respirations for signs of sexual arousal, but he did know otherwise, and he knew terror when he saw it.

"No…oh, no…" he said emphatically. "This is _not_ for you." He knelt before her on the bed, grasped her wrist, and roughly untied the knot. He released her wrist and grasped her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. Her pupils were dilated and unfocused, her nostrils flared. Her lips moved silently, forming Vulcan words he recognized. She was reciting Surak's litany against fear.

"T'Riss?" he whispered, horrified by the state she'd managed to get herself into, hating himself for not making his wishes more clear. "Look at me, honey." His choice of words must have caught her attention, for she stopped her silent recitation and focused on his face. He cupped her cheeks in both hands and gave her his full attention.

"I never wanted this. Do you understand?" he said. She blinked, her eyes filling with moisture. "The rope was for me, so I wouldn't roll on top of you and scare you…not for you. Never for you." T'Riss took a shaky breath and closed her eyes. A single tear rolled down each of her cheeks and she began to shiver convulsively.

Daniel wrapped her in his arms, lifted her from the bed, hoisted her over one shoulder so he'd have a hand free to pull the bedclothes down, and then laid her gently down again, still curled in a fetal ball. He got in beside her and covered them both with the blankets, feeling sick to his stomach over the whole misunderstanding. He held her as she shivered in shock, smoothing her hair and murmuring comforting inanities.

"Hush, hon. It's all right. Shhh…"

The shivering gradually stopped, her breathing slowed, and eventually she fell asleep. Daniel, on the other hand, was wide awake. If he'd previously had any doubts about T'Riss's feelings for him they'd just been set to rest. T'Riss's terror of being restrained was what had gotten them into this situation to begin with, and yet once she'd convinced herself that restraints were the safest option she'd been ready to face her worst fears without argument.

He felt guilty. Guilty for not explaining himself. Guilty for not anticipating that she would assume the rope was intended for her. Guilty for not loving her enough. Would he have been able to face his worst fear just to save her pain? He wasn't sure. But he was sure that he'd never find another woman willing to do for him what T'Riss had just offered to do. And that made his decision a whole lot easier to make.

#

V'Lan entered the passenger lounge with the dignity that befit a woman of her station. Her daughter, Jara, was already engaged in conversation with T'Rel. T'Rel's husband, Saran, was standing at the main viewport examining the upcoming star cluster with every appearance of deep interest.

The lounge was crowded, as usual. Aside from the Vulcans, the other passengers aboard the Tellarite liner included a group of four Denobulans, seven extremely talkative Tellarites, a Betazoid, and a Human. Again as usual, a nearly constant stream of beings came and went at random intervals, maintaining a barrage of noise.

V'Lan found it somewhat curious that the Human seemed to be the most retiring of their fellow passengers, seldom emerging from his stateroom. She briefly spared a thought for Daniel, wondering if he was safe and well.

The two Vulcan women stood to acknowledge her entrance. She accepted T'Rel's invitation to have some tea and everyone resumed their seats.

"I have not encountered Stern recently," T'Rel observed as she poured. V'Lan tensed slightly. "Have we offended?"

"By no means," V'Lan hastened to assure her. "Stern is currently in sickbay consulting with the ship's healers. He informed me that the opportunity to obtain direct experience with alien species, rather than merely classroom instruction, was irresistibly appealing."

T'Rel seemed amused. "I am reminded of my husband. Of course, your son's attitude is entirely logical. Such an opportunity is seldom available to one at his level of training."

"My brother is dedicated to his field of study," Jara put in.

"Properly so," T'Rel approved.

"In a related matter," V'Lan asked delicately, "has a reply been forthcoming from your daughter?"

Now it was T'Rel's turn to look discomfited. "Not yet. We have been informed that for some reason T'Riss was assigned to detached duty aboard a civilian ship. It is probable that we will not receive a reply to our message until we reach Risa."

"Understood," V'Lan inclined her head. "It would be illogical in the extreme to expect her to return to active Fleet duty at once. A period of convalescence is anticipated for every survivor of the attack."

"Yes," T'Rel said, looking relieved.

V'Lan reflected that the girl must have suffered severe damage indeed if her mother was this concerned. Of course, her clan was noted for being strict traditionalists. Perhaps just the appearance of mental illness, even following a significant emotionally traumatizing event, was regarded by this family as distasteful. It was a matter for later meditation.

#

"So what's the trouble?" Daniel asked. He finished climbing the access ladder into the control room and wondered at the dark look on Jenrali's face. "Why the sudden summons if we're not under attack?"

"Here," Jenrali snapped. "Look at this." Daniel obediently stepped over to the console and read the incoming message log. The color gradually drained from his face.

"Oh, shit."

"Now you see," the Andorian said in a satisfied tone. "What kind of trickery are these Vulcans trying to pull?"

"No, that's not it," Daniel told him, an ominous feeling beginning in the pit of his stomach. "It's not trickery."

"What do you mean?" the older man growled.

"If it was intended to be secret they wouldn't have sent it openly like this," Daniel explained as he sat at his station and tried to prepare himself for the worst. "This kind of message, sent this way but encrypted, means that it involves critical family business."

"Oh." Jenrali sat back. "Oh," he repeated. "We didn't know."

"We?" Daniel asked.

"Me and Sehlra," Jenrali explained. "I was going to crack it, but she thought maybe we better let you do it instead."

Daniel nodded. "It has to be from T'Riss' family. Vulcans are paranoid about some things. They always encrypt messages that deal with family secrets."

"Ah," Jenrali looked embarrassed and his antennae drew back tightly against his head. "Maybe you better get her up here, then."

T'Riss answered the summons promptly, naturally. She took the message in stride, explaining, "I have been expecting some type of communication from my clan. I did not anticipate receiving it this quickly, but it is just as well."

Daniel offered her his console to decrypt and read the message, which she accepted politely. When he stepped away and started to descend the ladder she stopped him. "You are my betrothed, Daniel. I have no secrets from you. I would prefer that you remain." He shrugged and took a seat at the co-pilot's station while she ran the message through her family's standard decryption matrix.

The two men started chatting quietly about nothing in particular when a small noise drew their attention. T'Riss was staring at the screen with a mixed look of disbelief, anger, and fear. She had the sides of the console in a white-knuckle grip so tight that the cover was starting to crack.

Daniel was across the control room in two steps. "What is it?" His touch on her arm snapped her out of the fixation on the screen, but she just looked up at him in distress and pointed at the message. Daniel bent to read it. "It's in High Vulcan. I don't read that very well. Is it all right if I translate it?"

T'Riss nodded and stood up, looking stunned. She gave Daniel the seat. Jenrali watched from the pilot's position looking concerned. "Are you all right, youngster?" She didn't answer him, but leaned against the bulkhead with a hopeless look on her face.

Daniel quickly ran the message through the universal translator, feeling more concerned by the minute. When it came back on-screen he started skimming it as fast as possible. His jaw dropped. Then he re-read it thoroughly.

"I see." Daniel straightened up, hanging onto his self-control with all ten fingernails, and addressed T'Riss. "We need to talk."

"Yes. Immediately," she agreed. T'Riss braced her hands against the bulkhead. She seemed to be having difficulty standing for some reason.

"What's wrong?" Jenrali demanded.

Daniel turned his head to look at him for a moment, debating with himself about how much to tell the old Andorian. Jenrali was almost as protective as Sehlra. "I may need some heat in the secondary cargo storage area," he said finally.

"You may, huh?" Jenrali said. "Sehlra won't like that. Why can't you do whatever it is in the gym?"

Daniel looked back at T'Riss. "No room for weapon practice in the gym." Her eyes widened. He met them squarely, in silent reassurance.

Jenrali tensed. T'Riss looked back at Daniel with something indecipherable in her eyes.

"There will be no cause, Daniel," she told him. "We have already settled this matter. By the time we arrive at Risa my family will be powerless to affect the situation."

"What. Was. In. That. Message?" Jenrali spit the words like torpedoes. "No dodging. Now."

T'Riss looked unhappy. "My family..."

Daniel decided to just say it. "Her family has found her another husband. They're bringing him to Risa to meet her. So I might have to kill the sonuvabitch. Depends on how things go. I need the cargo hold to practice." He faced Jenrali, determined.

"You'll have it." Jenrali nodded decisively, in full agreement. "What kind of weapons? Do you need Sehlra to craft something special?"

"No," Daniel said. "I'll fight with Human weapons. Risa isn't Vulcan. If he expects to take a Human's woman, then he'll have to fight by Human rules." T'Riss stared, first at one of the men and then the other, while an olive flush came over her face.

"What kind of rules do your people have for this situation, lad?" asked Jenrali.

"Only one," Daniel said between his teeth. "All is fair in love and war. If that fool wants my woman, I'll show him what Human war is all about."

T'Riss' knees almost buckled. "Daniel." She actually squeaked. "Please. Come back to our quarters. We must... talk." She swallowed, licked her lips. "Yes…we need to talk about this."

"Yeah," he brooded. "We really do need to settle some things."

"Yes," she whispered. "We must settle this matter. Come. Please. Now." She was trembling. She headed down the ladder ahead of Daniel and waited eagerly for him at the bottom. When he reached the deck she led the way at a brisk pace and entered the access code to their quarters at light speed. As soon as Daniel got through the doorway T'Riss launched herself at him.

"Whoa," Daniel caught her. "Wait. We need to settle something."

"We have already settled it," T'Riss kissed his mouth, then his jawline, then started running a trail of kisses down the side of his neck while she unfastened his shirt.

"Stop, T'Riss. Please." He grabbed her hands, his tone urgent. She paused, looking indignant.

"Daniel." T'Riss protested. "I do not want to stop. You do not truly want me to stop. I could smell your arousal even if it were not physically obvious. If the issue of restraints bothers you I will agree to any arrangement you prefer."

"I don't want you to stop," he admitted, "…but I _need_ you to stop…until we get to Risa."

"No. Unacceptable." She twisted her hands free and pressed both palms against his chest. He could feel their warmth through his shirt. Her face was pleading. "I cannot fathom your logic in suggesting such a thing. We have chosen each other. There is no logical reason to wait. Once we have sealed the mating bond it would be a violation of Surak's teachings for anyone to interfere between us. The law may not as yet forbid it, but I am certain that a defense based directly on the Kirshara itself would be unassailable."

"But your family will never accept me," he pointed out.

"I do not care," T'Riss insisted, showing signs of increasing frustration. She kicked off her shoes and peeled off her coverall. Then she swiftly got out of her underwear and stood before him clad only in her own beauty. His blood pressure went ballistic.

"Oh... my..." Daniel felt her finish the job of unfastening his shirt. He dampened his lips and reached for her arms just as T'Riss pressed herself skin to skin against his chest. "Oh my god," he whimpered as her mouth found the base of his throat. Daniel pulled up everything he had and stepped back.

"Please. Just listen for a minute. Please?" She paused like a hunting cat frustrated in mid-pounce. Her eyes were glittering and her bosom was heaving. For an instant Daniel was torn between abject surrender and running for his life.

"I. Will listen," she panted. "Speak quickly."

"If we do this now, it's going to look to your family like I snuck in behind their backs and took advantage of you. Isn't it?" He waited while this concept percolated through the layers of hormone saturated heat in her brain.

"I have told you, Daniel. I will tell you again." Her voice rose. "_I do not care _what my family thinks." She moved forward and put her arms around his neck. Daniel's arms went around her automatically. He closed his eyes and prayed for strength. He had never held a woman who felt so good to him. Her breath tickled his ear as she continued her efforts at persuasion. "I am already dishonored," she murmured. "Once my family learns of my crimes, they will surely cast me out. Their opinion is meaningless."

"Then think about my opinion," he told her softly. "Is my opinion important?"

She suddenly stiffened in his arms. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Daniel said carefully, "that it's important to me to know, to really know for positive certain, that you are willing to choose me even when you have a Vulcan alternative available."

T'Riss stood straight and stepped back. He could sense her hurt feelings somehow. Presumably it was their newborn bond in action. Despite her lack of clothing, she wore a cloak of dignity. "You still doubt me, even now," she said, her voice sounding as wounded as he'd ever heard a Vulcan sound. "You told me that you believed me, but you lied."

"I believe you now. Right now, here, aboard the ship. But what about when we get there?" T'Riss's expression was closed. Daniel closed his eyes. He could still feel her injured pride. He'd really hurt her feelings this time. He opened his eyes again, and there she was, looking coldly angry and completely delectable. "Can't you understand?" he pleaded.

"What I understand is that you refuse to accept my word even though you told me that you believe me." She turned away, and he was treated to delicious view number two.

Daniel gritted his teeth. "Right here and now, I believe that you're certain. What I need to know is whether that certainty will still hold once we get to Risa. Once you face the reality of having another option. Once you actually have a real Vulcan man looking you in the eye and offering himself to you. Once you have your own family pushing you into taking him instead of me. Remember how long I lived on Vulcan. I know how much family influence means to a Vulcan."

"You think I am weak." T'Riss didn't turn around. "You think that my family will break my determination. You think that because I permitted myself to be captured and enslaved that I am incapable of honoring my commitment to you."

"That's not it," he started to say. T'Riss spun around.

"Yes, it is," she insisted, her shoulders squared in military posture. Her rigidity contrasted oddly with her state of undress. "But I understand. I have behaved dishonorably before. You have every reason to doubt me now. You are demanding this of me as a test. If I am not strong enough to defy my family openly for your sake, then I am not worthy to be your wife."

"I..." Daniel stopped. "I..." He grimaced uncomfortably. "That wasn't the way I was thinking of it."

She put her hand on his arm gently. "Now I understand. It is all my own doing." Her expression softened. "Does this mean that you will accept me if I am willing to undergo this final test?"

Daniel told her bluntly. "If you still want me once you talk to your family, yes. I'll kill the basklaar with a lirpa if I have to." He saw her belly muscles tighten. "But that's all I want: to know that you will pick me even when you have the option of a Vulcan husband, not just because you can't do any better."

"I cannot do any better, Daniel," she told him softly. "If I had my choice of every unattached male in the quadrant, I still could not do any better. But I will endure this final test to prove myself to you."

"T'Riss," Daniel hesitated. "If he really is a better choice for you... I mean, if he can make you happier..."

She whipped out a hand without a second of hesitation and slapped him across the face. Daniel froze in shock, lifting one hand to his stinging cheek. "Do not say it. Do not dare to imply it, Daniel Johansen. Do you understand?" Her tone reminded him entirely too much of Sehlra—and maybe a little bit of Stern's mother, V'Lan, the only real maternal figure that Daniel could clearly remember from his childhood. Fortunately, T'Riss didn't look one bit like anyone's mother.

"Yes, ma'am," he said in a daze.

"Now," T'Riss told him. "We are going back to bed. If we are not going to complete the bonding tonight then I am in need of some relaxation exercises. The events of this day have been rather stressful." She grabbed his open shirt by one lapel and tugged him toward the bunk. He followed obediently with a befuddled smile on his face.

Continued in Chapter 13


	13. Chapter 13a

**The Lerteiran Chronicles**

**Episode Thirteen: Ready or Not, Here We Come**

**By Blacknblue and Distracted**

**Genre: Action Adventure and Romance**

**Rating: R**

**Disclaimer: We don't own the Star Trek universe. We just go there to play. Honest. **

**We do, however, own our original characters and story ideas. You are welcome to borrow them as long as no money changes hands. If we can't make anything from this, nobody else gets to either.**

**Summary: T'Pol grows suspicious of Enterprise's Vulcan guests, Daniel prepares for a fight, T'Riss gets the chance to make her stand, and we find out more about what's in store for everyone on Risa.**

**A/N: A belated acknowledgement to Linda/Bineshii from BnB. The concept of having chocolate becoming a medium of exchange in itself is something that we came up with ourselves. But the idea that chocolate is addictive to Vulans and contraband on their homeworld was taken from a story of hers. She gave me permission to use it, but I forgot to mention where it came from until now. Sorry about that.**

################################################

Sehlra stepped through the hatchway and into _Lerteiran's_ improvised gym. She walked past the treadmill and the climbing rope to the far bulkhead, where she grabbed the climbing pole and starting scaling the rungs. She got off on the fourth catwalk level and walked over to join Daniel by the weight rack. He was standing with both feet braced, repetitively lifting a bar loaded with what looked like nearly half of his own body weight. He gripped it underhand, hoisting it in a smooth arc from his thighs to mid-chest and back again. At least he had a support belt on.

"Thought you would be in the secondary cargo hold," she said calmly. Sehlra silently noted his complexion, copious perspiration, heavy breathing and the visible pulse point on the side of his throat. She kept her conclusions to herself for the moment.

"I was," Daniel swallowed and continued. "Dividing... my off-duty time. Part weapons practice. Part exercise. Gotta build my strength and stamina back up."

"Good," Sehlra nodded approval. "Just don't overdo it. You don't have to get back in shape tomorrow."

Daniel shook his head angrily, staggering a bit when it made him dizzy. He lowered the barbell to the deck, his chest heaving. "Fifteen days. Not enough time. Gotta do it... the hard way. If I had more time... could take it easy. But not... now."

She snorted and took his pulse. "Right. It won't help if you drop dead, boy."

"No pain... no gain, Sehlra," Daniel told her. He picked up the barbell again and resumed his arm curls.

She grunted. "Quoting Klingon proverbs now, are you?"

"Human." Daniel gasped out. "Old Human proverb. Like I said, I don't have time to be gentle on myself. In about three days the soreness will start to work out. In a week the muscles will begin to harden. By the time we get there I will be halfway back to full strength in bone and muscle. Best I can do. It will have to be good enough."

"That girl of yours swears you won't have to fight," Sehlra said darkly. "She said that she plans to refuse this new boy."

Daniel dropped the barbell with a clang and locked it down. He looked at Sehlra with his chest heaving and sweat dripping. "She's not thinking straight. Her family is high class, Sehlra. Her father's a high-level bureaucrat, one step below the Ministry itself. Her mother has a high status job, meaning pull. In other words, they have power and influence."

Sehlra started looking tense. "The High Command."

"Among other possibilities," Daniel nodded and headed for the bench press. "You know how Vulcan is broken up into clans, right?"

"Right. That's part of our Fleet training," she told him.

"The way it works," Daniel laid back and grunted with effort, slowly lifting the bar above his chest with trembling arms. Suddenly he lost it and the weight came crashing back onto the rack. "Dammit!"

"Too much, too fast, Daniel." Sehlra chided him. "I told you. Here," she slid several kilos off from each end. "Try now." Daniel grimaced in disgust and started pressing the reduced weight. To his shame, even that much mass was a real effort.

"As the centuries passed," Daniel told her, "the biggest and," he whooshed out his breath, "strongest clans cons-" he gasped, "consolidated their hold on," exhaled hard," "the best areas, the m-most," he sucked in air, "dependable water sources," and wheezed out, "the best trade routes, things like that."

"That sounds obvious enough," Sehlra told him.

Daniel grunted in pain. "Yeah. It was pretty obvious to the... oh crap." He eased the bar back to the rack and started massaging his shoulder. Sehlra looked concerned and started for him but Daniel waved her off. "Just a cramp. I'll be fine." He stood up and started swinging his arm. "I guess I should drink something."

"The most sensible thing you've said since I came in here," she agreed. "Here." She handed him the water bottle and watched in concern as he upended it.

"Rest a few minutes. That's an order, crewman," Sehlra told him.

"Yes, ma'am," Daniel sighed and sat down gratefully.

"Now, you were saying something about Vulcan clans?" Sehlra propped against the rack.

"Yeah." Daniel took another drink. "Once the big clans had everything divided up, it left the smaller clans out in the sand. So naturally they started trying to form alliances. The story really gets long and complicated at that point. But it ends up with the smaller clans joining up with the big ones and forming what they call sub-clans."

"I think I heard of those," Sehlra nodded. "But I thought they were all related to each other."

"They are, now," Daniel said. "They all started intermarrying and kept it up for centuries. But there are still some families that can trace their bloodlines back to the original ruling clans. And those are the people who hold the high positions in Vulcan society."

"That makes no sense at all." Sehlra snorted in disgust. According status based on the political achievements of distant ancestors rather than on current victories—whether in battle or business—only put weaklings in power. No wonder the Vulcan High Council was so incompetent.

"It may not make sense," Daniel shrugged, "but it's traditional, and Vulcans cling to tradition like a Tellarite clings to a credit chip. The only way to gain membership into a Vulcan clan is by birth. Vulcans trace clan affiliation through the mother's bloodline. So the old ruling clans are _very_ picky about who they let their daughters marry." He looked at Sehlra. "You starting to get my drift here?"

She nodded in disgust. "I can't see a greenblood rolling with joy over having an alien for a son-in-law."

"Even now, after this Kirshara thing is supposedly taking the planet by storm," Daniel said tiredly, "I doubt that the government would be willing to accept a half-breed into one of its reserved positions. So our kids will have to get out and scratch for a living anyway. But I can easily see Mommy dearest calling back home and asking... say... her great-uncle in the Security Directorate to take care of a little problem for her."

"So much for Vulcan honor," Sehlra snarled. "Not that I ever believed in it anyway."

"But that's the key," Daniel said. "I told you, Vulcans cling to tradition. If a challenge is made, they _absolutely have_ to comply with the traditions. Doesn't matter if they want to or not. They have to."

"Even if you fight with Human weapons?" Sehlra looked skeptical.

Daniel made a chopping gesture. "The customary weapons and rituals are a modern addition. The original tradition - I've been reading up on this - it doesn't specify what weapons have to be used. It doesn't even specify the terms of the fight. All the original tradition requires is that the family's intended answer the challenge and fight the challenger until one of them is dead. That's it. The only thing forbidden is outside interference."

"You mean," Sehlra said slowly, "that you could use a phase pistol?"

"Theoretically," Daniel stood up. "But then he could bring in a disruptor rifle with sonic grenades and military grade body armor." He grinned wryly. "I think I'm better off just staying with hand weapons. Then he'd be disgracing his clan if he used modern weapons."

"What if he insists on doing it the Vulcan way?" she asked. "Suppose he says he won't agree to a free for all, and he refuses to fight unless you do it the Vulcan way."

Daniel bared his teeth. "Then I win by default. Unless his family makes a serious issue of it. In which case I take his head with my kukri and the matter is settled."

Sehlra blinked. She'd seen Daniel's collection of exotic Human weapons, and the wickedly curved blade to which he was referring would certainly do the job.

She rubbed the base of her left antenna as if it pained her. "You better stop with the weights for today, boy. Medic's orders. Finish out your exercise on the treadmill. Then eat some high protein food and get some rest. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am." Daniel sighed. Sehlra headed for the climbing pole with her nostrils flaring. "Oh, before I forget," he called after her. "Do we have any extra platinum stock? Or gold? Either one will work."

Sehlra paused at the top rung and looked back with a curious expression. "I think we have a few kilos of platinum circuit foil. About two kilos of gold wire maybe. How much do you need?"

"A lot less than a kilo," Daniel assured her. "I want to make something. Three somethings, actually. Less than half a kilo should do all three."

"What are you making?" Sehlra asked.

"Just some jewelry. For me and T'Riss," Daniel told her with a shrug. "We Humans are kinda traditional too, about some things."

#

"So there is no way to reach _Lerteiran_ before we get to Risa?" Malcolm asked. He propped against Hoshi's station terminal and crossed his arms, frustrated and angry. His anger was directed at himself, of course. He never should have let Damin leave the ship without questioning him. Now he would have to pay the price and wait to catch up to the little bugger, and he wasn't very good at waiting.

"Sorry." Hoshi held up both hands with an apologetic grimace. "We could try routing a signal to Risa and have them bounce it back to _Lerteiran_, but I doubt it would get there before they arrived at this distance. We are seriously far out, sir. Subspace relay beacons are few and far between out here."

Malcolm growled a few choice words under his breath. Hoshi's smirk told him that even cursing in Malay wasn't discreet enough when she was around. He returned her wry smile, and for just a second forgot about his anger. He opened his mouth with the vague intention of asking her to share a meal with him, or perhaps the next movie night, but Hoshi, oblivious to his plan, interrupted his question with one of her own.

"You really think the Vulcans are lying about that trance the prisoner is in?" she asked. Malcolm blinked, but recovered quickly. Hoshi was correct, of course. Now was not the best time for distractions. "You tell me," he replied. "The Vulcans had a fit when we tried to salvage the Romulan ship, even to the point of beaming a raiding party aboard to try stealing it from us. They only agreed to sharing information when their noses were rubbed in the fact that they had no choice. Now, the first time we let a Vulcan get anywhere near the prisoner, suddenly she's comatose in what looks _exactly_ like a Vulcan healing trance." He pursed his lips. "So tell me, Ensign. If you were placing a wager, what odds would you give that they're telling the truth?"

She made a pained face. "I might go 50-50, if even that high. You're right. It stinks to high heaven. But there's nothing we can do about it, is there?"

"Not unless Commander T'Pol is having any luck," he said morosely.

#

Commander T'Pol was not having any luck. Commander T'Pol was, in fact, swiftly reaching the limits of her patience. Were it not for the soothing presence of the mating bond, she was confident that at least one of the visiting Vulcan officers would have enjoyed a refreshing shower of chamomile tea by now.

"Your intractability is illogical," she told her compatriots. "Crewman Jowan has already revealed that he was able to extract a significant amount of information before the prisoner entered trance."

"You exaggerate, Commander," Centurion Solis reproved her. "A brief memory of having the block implanted and the identity of the one who did it is hardly an extensive amount of data."

"But it is proof that he was able to tap into her deep memory, however briefly," T'Pol pounced triumphantly. "Information transfer during a mind meld is nearly instantaneous. It is not within the realm of possibility that Jowan was unable to extract more information than the meager amount that you have been willing to share with us."

The three of them were sitting in the captain's mess. Captain Archer had anticipated that the smell of meat in the main mess hall would disturb their guests' digestion and had offered the use of the captain's mess for their meals. T'Pol had suggested it as a convenient meeting area for this discussion. A renegade thought popped into her mind that it was also conveniently bereft of witnesses. She crushed the idea firmly, promising herself to make additional time for meditation no matter how much sexual energy Trip broadcast through the bond that night. She urgently needed to re-establish a proper structure to her meditation routine before her life dissolved into chaos.

"That is not strictly correct," Jowan rumbled. "There is a finite amount of time required for locating and extracting…" T'Pol held up two fingers to stop him with a frozen expression. Both Vulcan officers put on masks of indifference.

"You continue to obfuscate the matter with irrelevancies," she said coldly. "I am familiar with mind melding." At this statement, she noted a twitch, slight but detectable, on Jowan's face. "I am aware of the time involved in the process. I have reviewed the interrogation tapes. Your meld was of more than sufficient duration to extract a great deal of valuable intelligence. If, as you claim, the block activated almost instantly there would have been no cause for you to prolong the meld as you did. Therefore logic impels me to conclude that you are lying."

"I was attempting to bypass the block," Jowan offered. T'Pol ignored him. She reached behind her and keyed the comm. "T'Pol to Captain Archer."

_"Archer here."_

"Captain, I have just spent 18.1 minutes interviewing Solis and Jowan concerning Jowan's mind meld of the prisoner. I conclude that they are conspiring to withhold additional information for their own use. I recommend that neither of them be permitted further access to the prisoner for any reason." Solis stirred in protest. T'Pol went on, "I further recommend that all notes and records in their possession be confiscated, and that their quarters be searched. In addition, I recommend that a security detail be assigned to monitor their movements at all times."

_"That's a very serious allegation, Commander. Are you quite certain?"_

"Yes, Captain. I am," T'Pol met the eyes of both Solis and Jowan in turn without flinching. "I will restrain both of our... guests... here until a search can be conducted of their quarters."

_"Just once, just one time, I wish things could be simple with the Vulcan Fleet. Just one time. But apparently that's too much to ask. All right, Commander. Lieutenant Reed is on his way to go over their quarters. Meanwhile he'll send a pair of guards to relieve you. Do you recommend putting them in the brig?" _

Both Vulcans were sitting in rigid disapproval. T'Pol considered, and told the comm, "I do not think that will be required at this time, Captain. However, I suggest keeping the option open."

_"Fine. We'll do it your way for now. Archer out."_

The comm went dead and Solis offered, in a reasonable tone, "I believe that once again you have exaggerated, Commander. I dispute that you have any just cause to accuse us of deliberate deception."

"Of course you do," T'Pol told him shortly. "We will accept your denials as given and expected. If I were inexperienced in mind melding, your attempt might have succeeded Unfortunately for you, I have been involved in multiple mind melds, involuntary as well as voluntary. I have also studied the subject in some depth, since I was once infected with Pa'anar in the days before any self-respecting Vulcan healer would bother treating me. A telepathic block such as you describe would be impossible for a non-telepath to maintain without assistance. Further, only a telepath of considerable natural strength and extensive training would be capable of withstanding the probes of a trained Vulcan."

"If you believe this," Solis asked, "why did you not state this during the prior meeting?"

"I needed to check some reference works for positive confirmation," T'Pol explained. "Also, there was no logical reason to provoke my Human shipmates with additional proof of Vulcan duplicity. They are already near their limit of tolerance with your unending pattern of dishonesty. Revealing your latest attempt to circumvent an agreement might have triggered unfortunate results. It might still do so, if I inform Captain Archer of the full details prior to our arrival at Risa."

"Noted," Solis said sourly. He shot Jowan a glance that was less than flattering. The big man did not respond.

#

Damin opened the cargo bay hatch with tired resignation. This wasn't going to be fun, given Vulcan stubbornness and the mood both of the Andorians were in. At least there wasn't likely to be any bloodshed. He hoped.

"Llahir, Senek," he called. "Both of you are wanted in the control room. Consultation with the command staff." He added, "Leave all weapons here."

The Vulcans traded looks while Raijiin sent a telepathic query his way. Damin kept his shields strictly intact and his expression impervious. With a graceful bow he gestured the older males through the portal and dogged it shut behind them all. No questions were asked on the way to, and up, the access ladder. When Damin made it to the top of the ladder he found Jenrali in his usual spot, Sehlra in the co-pilot's seat, Llahir in the Ops seat and Senek seated in meditation position on the only open patch of floor available in the tiny room. Damin finished climbing and seated himself at the edge of the access way, letting his legs dangle.

"We want information," Jenrali opened brusquely. "T'Riss and Daniel want to get married, but the girl's family has another boy picked out for her. They're all planning to meet up at Risa. Daniel expects to fight; T'Riss says he won't have to. We want you to tell us what's likely to happen."

Senek looked troubled. "This is disquieting. Do I understand correctly that if her family refuses Daniel, T'Riss intends to choose the challenge?"

"Yes," Jenrali told them. "Besides, Daniel said he wants to keep the girl no matter what."

"Then it is essentially her only option," Llahir said bluntly. "The Human boy is correct. If her family does not accept him, he will have to kill her family's intended in single combat."

"Not... quite... her only option," Senek objected, looking deeply unhappy.

"Now you're getting to what we want to know," Sehlra spoke up. "She said that it won't make any difference, because she just won't accept their choice no matter what her family says. T'Riss told me that her family will throw her out, but she expects that anyway. So if she's out, they won't have any reason to force a fight. Is that true?"

Senek winced. "This is..." He looked at Llahir, who returned his look with an expression equally dismayed. "This is a situation that almost never happens," Senek continued. "For a clan to disown a member is a terrible thing. The one disowned almost invariably ends their own life. A Vulcan without family is a person without a place or an identity. Very nearly not a person at all. "

"She'll have family," Sehlra said angrily. "Might not be greenblood, but she'll have family. But do you think they'll do it?"

"They might," Senek admitted. "It will depend to a great extent on the character of her parents and their commitment to traditional standards. The young woman has suffered a great deal, which many people would argue provides extenuating circumstances." He thought hard. "It is impossible to predict," Senek finally said. "But I can tell you that such an action is extremely rare. And in case you are wondering, there is no option for her to withdraw from the clan by her own choice."

"So Daniel will most likely have to fight." Jenrali brooded. "The boy's not in good shape yet, but he says he'll be up to about half strength by the time we get there."

"That is unlikely to be sufficient," Llahir pointed out. "The lirpa is a heavy weapon. And the ahn-woon requires both strength and dexterity to wield effectively."

Sehlra said grimly, "Daniel said he's using Human weapons."

Both Vulcans blinked. "I had not considered that," Senek said thoughtfully. "There is actually no explicit requirement for the lirpa and ahn-woon. They are customary, of course."

"He told me," Sehlra glared, "that all the rules say is that he has to fight. Doesn't specify what weapons he has to use."

"In the strictest possible interpretation of the ancient inscriptions," Llahir said thoughtfully, "the boy is correct. Certainly no Human weapon would be considered inherently superior to its Vulcan equivalent. I can foresee no logical reason for a priest to object if Daniel chooses to use his own weapons."

"What would happen," Damin asked quietly, "if she just told them that she was going to marry Daniel? And there was nothing they could do about it? Then they went ahead and got married on Risa?"

"In such a case," Senek said, "there would actually be a relatively high probability of a breach between T'Riss and her family. I do not care to speculate whether it would progress to the point of actually severing her from her clan. But there would surely be long term conflict over the matter."

"What are Daniel's chances in a fight against a Vulcan?" Damin wanted to know.

"Ordinarily," Jenrali considered, "I'd say about two to one in his favor against a Vulcan civilian. Against a trained Vulcan soldier, about 3 to 2 against. He's studied the fighting arts all his life, and he's been through a few. But right now the boy is at a disadvantage. He claims that a young Human like him can put on muscle and bone mass pretty fast as long as he works himself to exhaustion and gorges himself on meat all the way there."

Sehlra growled unhappily. "I looked into that. Their old armies used to use that method for beating raw recruits into battle condition quickly. It works, but the damage it inflicts on their bodies will twist your antenna to read. What he gains in skeletal muscle he's paying for in other ways."

"For everything there is a price," Llahir said philosophically. "Will it kill the boy to do this?" He seemed only mildly interested.

"Not... quite," Sehlra said reluctantly. "Probably not. As long as I keep careful watch on him."

"Then I can only recommend," Senek stood up, "assisting him to gain as much strength as possible prior to our arrival. Unless T'Riss sincerely intends to break off all contact with her family, there is a high probability that Daniel will, in fact, be forced to fight."

"Then he'll be ready," Jenrali showed his teeth. Sehlra's antennae drew back and darkened. Damin silently sighed to himself and started climbing down to clear the ladder.

#

Solis waited out his period of enforced idleness with resigned patience, seated at the dining table with his hands folded before him. Jowan had his eyes closed in meditation. Trained security operatives learned very early that waiting was integral to their job. T'Pol admitted the two Human security guards without offering an additional word to her fellow Vulcans. She briefed the Humans succinctly, "Watch them. Keep them here. Keep your weapons in your hands at all times, set to stun. If they stand up, shoot them. Wait for further orders." They acknowledged her command and she walked out, looking less than pleased. The two Humans took positions in opposite corners of the room and seated themselves on the unoccupied chairs, looking professionally alert.

It was a long and restful interlude.

Precisely four hours after the Human guards arrived, a new pair of Humans came to relieve them. The new pair offered greater variety, since one of them alternated between sitting and standing at random intervals.

The third set of guards had been on duty for three hours and nine minutes when Lieutenant Reed arrived. He informed Solis, "You have been assigned new quarters. Follow me." He told the two Human guards, "Accompany us at the rear." They passed through the Human dining area, a large place full of noxious odors and cacophonous noises, gathering stares and a growing circle of silence. A half corridor, a brief turbolift ride, another corridor and two turns later brought them to a nondescript door in what Solis deduced were crew quarters.

Reed turned and told them bluntly, "By order of Commander T'Pol, these are your new quarters. You will share them. You are authorized to leave them twice per day for meals, once at 0600 and once at 1800. Each meal period is not to exceed thirty minutes. You will be escorted to the Mess Hall and back. Side excursions will not be permitted. Two guards will be on duty outside the door at all times. The internal comm has been disabled. If you require assistance, inform the guards. As required under Human law, I hereby inform you that you may, or you may not, be placed under surveillance at some point pursuant to the investigation of a crime." He stood aside and keyed the locking mechanism.

The door slid aside and they entered while their guards took positions outside. The room contained a two-tier bunk, a pair of small lockers, and a worktable. The worktable displayed a truncated base to show that the monitor had been removed. There was room, barely, for the two of them to pass each other in front of the bunks. A narrow hatch led into what appeared to be a compact sanitary facility with shower. There was a single viewport.

Solis stood beside the worktable and regarded Jowan, who held position near the bunks and returned his stare. Solis adjusted the position of the chair and used the hand movement to gesture, in security sign language, _"Explain."_

Jowan sat down on the lower bulk carefully, triggering a dismaying series of creaks. He remarked, "This situation is unfortunate." He looked at the lockers and replied in sign language, _"Necessary."_

Of course, if Commander T'Pol was viewing, or eventually did view, the recordings herself, their efforts would be futile. As a former operative she would be fluent in sign language. Solis reflected that it was ironic for them to be using this particular form of communication to evade Human monitors, since the concept for it was originally derived from Human sign language for the deaf.

On Vulcan, only the very aged had traditionally held any hope of surviving deafness. A clan elder could count on his or her descendants being available to attend and provide written transcripts of any needed information. But for a younger Vulcan, deaf meant dead. Without keen hearing to provide early warning, the ever-present dangers of the Vulcan desert would swiftly eliminate such a handicapped individual.

When the first Vulcan visitors to Earth had learned of this silent form of communication they were fascinated. The entire concept had simply never occurred to Vulcans. Although sign language was useless to Vulcans for its intended purpose, its potential applications in other areas were blatantly obvious.

Solis turned to look out the port. "Unfortunate indeed. Commander T'Pol seems determined to cling to her illogical conclusions." With one hand clasping the other wrist behind his back, Solis used his free hand to swiftly sign the word, _"Why?"_

He turned back to see Jowan gingerly attempting to stretch out on the bunk, which was several centimeters too short for him. Jowan was simultaneously the largest and the most subtle of all his operatives. The man's huge size, massive musculature, and rough hewn features tended to intimidate most people who did not know him well. Jowan also possessed a rough, sub-bass voice that rumbled like a rockslide, and he had a habit of never speaking unless spoken to. Few but the most observant suspected the razor sharp intellect or the wily resourcefulness that lurked behind Jowan's heavy lidded gaze.

The big man turned his sleepy looking eyes toward Solis and casually made the sign for _"dangerous."_ Then he said, "I suspect that Commander T'Pol's association with Humans has distorted her judgment." He dropped one hand to his side at the edge of the bed and made the sign for _"knowledge."_

Solis tensed. He moved casually toward the lockers and opened them in sequence. "It seems that our possessions have been transferred, no doubt after being thoroughly handled by several members of the crew," he said distastefully. He closed the second locker door and moved toward the shower area, dropping his hand and making the sign for _"specify."_

"I doubt that it will make much difference," Jowan said indifferently. "The Human odor is ubiquitous. I find it inconceivable that T'Pol has managed to adapt to it, given female olfactory sensitivity."

"Further evidence to support your theory that association with Humans has changed her," Solis pointed out, turning back to face the bunk. Jowan was still facing away from him, looking toward the port and the worktable. But he reached up to adjust the reading light attached to the wall above his pillow and made two signs. One was _"council,"_ and then two seconds later, _"compromised"_. He brought his hand back down.

Solis felt icy fear advance along the length of his nervous system. As someone holding crewman rank, Jowan had no way of knowing about V'Las and his Romulan connections. That information was restricted to Intelligence and Security officers of centurion rank or above, and even then, only on a need-to-know basis. Solis had only been informed because the _Sehlat's_ mission would send it into close proximity with Romulan space. It had been considered logical to provide him with all available data.

Either the prisoner had known about V'Las, and now Jowan also knew, or...

... or there was another Romulan mole on the High Council, one who had not yet been discovered. In either case, it was imperative that the Humans not discover this information under any circumstances. At worst, it might prove necessary to eliminate the prisoner. Even as he considered it, Solis felt sick at the thought of killing a helpless woman. But the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few, or the one.

Regardless, Jowan had acted properly in concealing the information from the Humans. Solis's simmering irritation with his assistant was extinguished, to be replaced with professional approval for his quick thinking and swift reaction. The young man deserved a special notation in his file for this, and he would receive it as soon as they returned to their ship.

Meanwhile, they still had many wearisome days to endure until arriving on Risa. He wondered if Commander T'Pol would be willing to provide them with reading material.

#

Namala sat at her desk sipping her morning tea and balancing the month's accounts on her console. Through the large picture window facing the rear garden she could see old Mateo the gardener spreading mulch around her ladyship's Risian nightbloomers. They were virtually the only native plants in the garden. Her ladyship preferred exotic to local in almost everything.

It was just after sunrise, and moisture still glittered on the foliage from the early morning rain which had ceased precisely at dawn, as scheduled. The scent of fresh baked bread wafted in from the kitchen next door, and Namala was just contemplating taking a short break to stroll through the kitchen for a taste test when Karin the upstairs maid rushed in without knocking, breathless and with her once neatly bound brown curls springing free of their confinement. She was a sweet little thing, and a willing worker.

"Mistress Namala, her ladyship is asking for you. She insists that you come at once." The girl looked frightened. It was an understandable reaction. Lady Arithnae was a frightening individual.

Namala saved the document before her, powered down the screen, and gave the child a reassuring smile. "Did her ladyship mention why?" she inquired. The request was unusual. The owner of Woodshaven House, a "lady" only by virtue of her outright purchase of the hereditary title, rarely bestirred herself to demand anything so early in the day. Karin grimaced.

"Amelie left, ma'am. I don't think she's coming back this time." Amalie was—or rather had been—her ladyship's body servant.

Namala raised a brow and prompted patiently, "And I take it she left before assisting her ladyship with her morning toilette." Karin looked at her feet and gave a nervous nod.

"Yes, ma'am. Amelie came downstairs crying with her nose all bloodied…said that no amount of pay was worth it…" The girl's voice trailed off in a hesitant fashion. Namala closed her eyes and sighed. She tried not to question the ways of her betters, but the woman was going to be making up her own bed and cooking her own meals soon if she kept this up. Namala was already forced to pay the newly hired domestics twice the going rate to compensate for her ladyship's volatile behavior. She pasted a polite smile on her face and pushed back from the desk.

"Thank you, Karin. You may return to your duties." The girl nodded and left the room looking relieved, no doubt grateful that she had not been instructed to fill in for her absent coworker. Although the duties of a body servant were usually less demanding than those of an upstairs maid and thus generally more desirable, in this particular instance Namala knew that she needed to take a hand in it herself and have a discussion with the lady of the house. Her position as steward of Woodshaven House didn't entirely protect her from dismissal, but she certainly had a better foothold than poor little Karin.

Entering the hallway from her tiny office behind the kitchen, Namala stopped at the large gilt-framed mirror on the wall for a livery check. It wouldn't do to expect proper appearance from her subordinates without requiring it of herself. The traditional livery colors of Woodshaven House were maroon and grey. In Namala's case, the day's uniform consisted of a maroon blazer with the house crest embroidered on her left breast pocket over grey trousers and a crisply starched white shirt. She filled out the trousers a bit more now, but otherwise it was the same uniform she'd worn every day for at least a decade. She pulled her cuffs through and straightened her shoulders. It would have to do.

With her grey-streaked blonde hair pulled into a chignon at the nape of her neck and her reading glasses on, Namala reflected, she was looking more and more like her mother's mother every day. The resemblance pained her. She was only fifty-five years old; too young to look like anyone's old granny. Since the stewardship had fallen to her after Gerod's death she'd had precious little time to be concerned about her appearance, though, and she _was _a grandmother—six times over thanks to two very fecund daughters-in-law, so the resemblance really shouldn't bother her as much as it did.

_Vanity serves no useful purpose._ _And if you still looked like you did twenty-five years ago you'd be no good in this job. Who'd listen to a wisp of a girl?_

She mounted the staircase at the end of the hall up to the second floor, which housed the master bedroom suite, and knocked firmly on the massive carved doors.

"Come _in_, Namala! Don't dawdle!" came an impatient voice from inside. Namala took a deep cleansing breath, set her face in a pleasantly attentive expression and pushed the double doors open.

Arithnae was still in bed, clothed in a black satin dressing gown and very likely nothing else—judging from the single puzzled inquiry Namala had received from the laundry staff regarding the whereabouts of her ladyship's nightclothes when Arithnae had first taken possession of Woodshaven House eighteen months ago. Arithnae had a breakfast tray across her lap and had laid aside the padd she was reading to regard Namala sternly.

"You really _must_ find me a decent body servant, Namala. The new girl spilled tea on the bedclothes trying to serve me this morning."

Namala stepped up to the bed and removed the tray, making note of the tea stain on the coverlet. It would require special cleaning. The girl had been careless, but no amount of carelessness merited being struck. Apparently, the difference between discipline and assault was not an easily understandable concept for her ladyship. They'd been through this before.

"I'm very sorry, my lady," she said, setting the tray aside to assist Arithnae out of bed and to the chair beside her dressing table. "I will begin interviewing candidates today." Assuming she'd be able to find any, of course.

Namala picked up a brush and began pulling it gently through Arithnae's shining black hair, from the crown of her head, over her distinctly pointed ears, and down to the midpoint of her back. There wasn't a single grey strand in it, nor did she dye it, although Namala strongly suspected based on what she'd managed to glean from business records that the woman was at least as old as she was. Judging from her appearance, if not her behavior, Namala thought it likely that Arithnae was part Vulcan. She'd read that Vulcans lived twice as long as most other species—certainly twice as long as Risians, at least—and aged very slowly. Beyond that she chose not to speculate. "Although, as we have discussed before," she began carefully, "you might find your servants more eager to please if you refrain from striking them, my lady. In my experience, fear is a poor motivator if one wishes to foster true loyalty." Namala kept her tone and expression neutral and held her breath while she brushed, poised for an explosion.

Instead, Arithnae raised one elegant brow in the mirror. "How long have you been in service at Woodshaven House, Namala?" The question held a subtle threat.

"I began drawing a salary at age fourteen, my lady, helping my mother in the kitchen," Namala replied. She laid the brush on the marble countertop, gathered a lock of hair at the crown of Arithnae's head in a practiced motion, and began braiding. For several seconds she felt Arithnae's gaze focused intently upon her.

"In _my _experience, fear is the only motivation one can trust," the woman countered. "And loyalty is grossly overrated."

"Perhaps you are right, my lady," shrugged Namala as she coiled and pinned. "I lack your wider experience. But the house accounts will suffer if we are forced to increase salaries again to retain personnel."

Arithnae didn't reply, but she didn't seem angry, either. Relieved by the woman's unexpectedly reasonable reaction to her advice, Namala pinned up the last neat coil, concealing the tips of both ears as her ladyship preferred, and stepped back to allow her mistress to inspect the result. "May I help you with anything else this morning, my lady?" Arithnae turned her head in each direction and then gave a satisfied nod.

"No, Namala. That will be all. When the Betazoid ambassador arrives I will receive her in the library."

Namala collected the breakfast tray from the side table. "Very good, my lady," she replied, and stepped through the doors of the master bedroom suite.

Karin was waiting at the doorway out of sight of the interior of the bedchamber. She shut the doors behind Namala. The look of gratitude on Karin's face gave Namala a pang of remorse. What, after all, had she done to improve the girl's lot? Arithnae was most unlikely to change her ways. The best Namala could hope to do for Karin would be to avoid promoting her until a supervisory position opened in the kitchen or the laundry, although she was so meek and hard-working that she'd probably get along better as a body servant than that cheekie little Amelie had done.

Namala acknowledged Karin's assistance with a smile and a nod. "Please wait to change her ladyship's bedclothes until after she descends to the library…and be sure to call the laundry's attention to the tea stains on the coverlet."

Karin bobbed her head with an eager smile. "Yes, ma'am." But Namala barely heard her. Something about the exchange had given her an idea. She descended the staircase to the kitchen with the breakfast tray, wondering whether it would cause a scandal if she recruited her ladyship's next body servant from the pleasure quarter. Surely there was at least one worker there who would find Arithnae's methods of discipline at the very least tolerable, if not frankly pleasurable. She decided that scandal was unlikely once the rumor mill had clarified the situation. Risians were very liberal in matters of pleasure.

#

"Are you serious?" Raijiin demanded in a harsh whisper. She craned her neck to inspect the opposite side of the room. None of the other passengers seemed to be paying them any mind. She returned her attention to Senek, who sat beside her on the bunk with a stolid expression on his face. "You can't be serious. You claim Vulcans don't joke, but you cannot possibly mean this."

Senek looked reproving. "Why would anyone think such a subject is amusing?"

Raijiin gaped. In preparation for her current assignment she'd read everything she'd been given concerning Vulcan culture, including a very thorough treatise on Vulcan marriage customs. She'd assumed when reading about certain rituals that the descriptions were primarily of historical interest. Apparently not.

"And I thought _Humans_ were savage," she hissed. "This is appalling. You're going to force them to fight over her? Like wild Qorthu? I can't believe any sentient race, especially one that has achieved space flight, would do something like this!"

"I am not going to force them to do anything," Senek corrected her.

Raijiin sputtered in righteous indignation. Llahir had walked over and been observing silently for a few moments. Now he spoke up. "Raijiin. Will you hear me?"

She eyed him, sighed, then closed her eyes and nodded. "Perhaps we could sit?" he suggested. Raijiin gritted her teeth and allowed Llahir to lead her over to the most private corner available. She took a seat on the edge of the lower bunk. He sat beside her and waited. She studied his scarred face, baffled by his complacency. He'd been through more than his fair share of hand to hand combat. He knew precisely what it was like to be forced to kill or be killed.

"How? How can you approve of this?"

He looked calmly at her. "Perhaps I am a savage."

She shook her head strongly. "No. I won't believe that. But I don't understand." It frustrated her that she could so rarely sense his feelings without touching him, and then only faintly. Since their relationship now revolved around the knife fighting lessons he was giving her, all she normally sensed from him was intense concentration. He took their lessons very seriously. Occasionally, though, some very intriguing impressions made it through. The mystery he posed was quite irresistible to her. At the moment, though, her primary emotion was annoyance."

Llahir regarded her. "Do you agree that any sentient life form desires to survive and reproduce?"

"Of course," Raijiin retorted. It was an obvious truism.

"There have been those," Llahir continued, "who have ventured the suggestion," he paused to look carefully at her, "that the only true purpose of life is to continue itself. In effect, the purpose of life is to live. To survive and to reproduce effectively."

"All right," Raijiin conceded. "I suppose so. What of it? How is this relevant to forcing those young men to fight like animals?"

"Like animals?" Llahir considered. "I suppose that is a fair statement. Since they are not plants, protists, or any other genera, I suppose it is logical to classify them as animals."

"You are being deliberately-" He put his hand over her mouth. She stopped in astonishment. For Llahir to deliberately initiate physical contact outside of their regular training sessions was unheard of.

"Listen to me," he told her quietly. "I am attempting to make a point." She nodded silently. Llahir took his fingers from her lips and Raijiin immediately put hers in place of them. She touched the same spot that he had in wonder. With physical contact, unclouded by the emotional fog of combat training, her extreme sensitivity had detected a very definite feeling of concern for her—concern based on and derived from an underlying affection. She could not recall the last time anyone had felt real affection for her.

"Do you recall telling me," he asked her, "that when you agreed to obtain information for the Xindi to be used in the bio-weapon you thought their effort was justified at the time because they told you that the Humans were trying to destroy their people?"

Raijiin flinched and looked away. "Yes. But I didn't know."

"Understood," Llahir said. "However, at the time you believed the Xindi when they told you that the Humans were trying to kill them. You believed them when they told you that they needed the information in order to protect their people. Is this not correct? And because of this, you considered your actions justified. At least until you had spent some time with the Humans and learned that you were misinformed."

"Yes." She swallowed bile.

"Therefore," Llahir proceeded, "you must believe that a life form, or a species, has the inherent right to defend itself. To fight, if need be, to survive?"

Her eyes beseeched him. "But you don't need to do this." She hesitated. "Do you?"

"We must live," he told her. "To live, we must have mates… not only to reproduce, but simply to survive. You are aware of this." She nodded.

"But couldn't you," Raijiin stopped and sought for words. "Couldn't you set things up in a peaceful arrangement? Some kind of... of _logical_ way?"

"Yes. We can, and we do," he informed her. "Each of us is betrothed in childhood. When the time is appropriate, we are drawn by the mating instinct to our chosen partner for marriage." He paused with a peculiarly wistful expression on his face. "Or at least, that is the customary sequence of events." Raijiin studied him for a moment. He seemed preoccupied. She recalled, then, the briefing Senek had given her when they'd first retrieved Llahir from the Romulans. Llahir had spent thirty years undercover. Any woman he might have left behind on Vulcan had long since given up on him. He'd no doubt been forced to seek a Romulan mate, she knew. Were Romulans capable of mating bonds? She wasn't sure. But he'd likely left a woman and maybe even children behind when he returned to Vulcan custody.

_Thirty years was what? Four ponfarrs? Four women? Four children, perhaps? _ She decided not to think about it. Allowing herself to be disturbed by the idea was the ultimate in hypocrisy. The thought of ponfarrs did make her wonder something else, though."Is T'Riss? Is she about to...?"

"I do not know," Llahir said. "That is not something discussed with non-family. But it does not matter. She has chosen Daniel as her new mate. If her family does not accept him, which they are not likely to do, then he will be forced to prove himself in combat."

"Prove himself." Raijiin clenched her teeth. "Does this happen often?"

"Almost never," Llahir replied. "But you must understand. Our world is not a gentle one. If T'Riss is to have a mate, her family must be certain that he will be able and willing to protect her and her children from the constant dangers that will beset them."

"And how," Raijiin's voice was thick with sarcasm, "does killing another person in a fight qualify a man to protect his wife from thirst, or predators, or a carnivorous plant?"

Llahir raised his brow in amusement. "Although the combat does provide the opportunity to assess the candidate's strength, speed, and agility, such a test is not the primary purpose of the confrontation. The real purpose is to ensure that the man who marries her is willing to die for her if called upon to do so."

Raijiin sat motionless, staring at him while preconceptions shattered and rearranged themselves in her mind.

#

Daniel had to grab his pants leg to lift his right foot over the threshold of his quarters. Then he dragged his left leg across and let it flop down. T'Riss looked up from her reading at the desk with deep concern. He half-smiled at her and struggled to pull a small object out of his sweat pants pocket.

"I'm still working on the other two, but I thought I'd show you this to see if it fits… so I have time to fix it if it doesn't before we get to Risa," he said in a weary voice. Then he extended his hand. On his palm was a silvery circular object. She rose from the desk, mostly to keep him from falling down in a heap where he stood, but also out of curiosity. "It's a ring…for your finger," he explained. "Among my ancestors on Earth, once the woman accepted the man's proposal of marriage she'd wear a ring on her finger…" He reached down, took her left hand in his, and indicated her fourth digit. "On this one… to show everyone that she was engaged to be married." He held up the ring. It was made of platinum wire braided together in a complex filigree pattern that looked never-ending. T'Riss rarely wore jewelry, but she'd never seen anything so beautiful. "I'm sorry there's no stone," said Daniel with an apologetic grimace, "But I didn't think dilithium was pretty enough, and it's the only crystallized mineral we have aboard." T'Riss, with her right arm still wrapped around Daniel's waist to support him, picked the ring up gingerly between her left thumb and forefinger and held it up to the light. The wire was buffed to a gleaming shine. With some effort she could see the faint lines of the tiny welds Daniel had used to join the ends of the wires together. The intricacy of the work left her speechless. She studied the small object, concrete proof of Daniel's intentions, and then placed it back in his palm. His mouth twisted briefly. "Yeah… I guess it _is_ pretty lame…" he told her, and closed his hand, moving to put the ring back in his pocket. She grasped his wrist.

"No, Daniel," she said softly. "You misunderstand." She released his wrist and extended her left hand toward him, looking him straight in the eyes. "Will you place it on my finger, ashayam? My other hand is otherwise occupied." She waited, still supporting him while her request penetrated his weary brain. A second later he smiled. Then he put the ring on her finger. It fit perfectly. He bent to kiss her and nearly fell over.

"What have you done to yourself?" T'Riss scolded. He could barely stand upright.

"Muscle cramps," he gasped. "Hot water…"

She managed to get his sweatshirt and underlying t-shirt off by dint of standing on her tip-toes and bending him over. His pants were simpler. She just yanked sweatpants and underwear down to his ankles, then pulled them, along with his gym shoes, off at once.

"Bless you, my lady," Daniel groaned, and staggered for the shower. T'Riss followed with concern growing deeper.

"Daniel, you overexerted yourself to an unsupportable degree," she decided. "This cannot continue." Daniel made no reply. He turned on the water and set it to maximum heat. T'Riss pressed her lips together and stepped back into the sleeping area to undress quickly. When she joined him in the shower Daniel's eyes popped open.

"T'Riss," he gulped. "Look, we agreed. This isn't fair."

"We agreed that I would claim you in front of my family," she told him. "I also agreed not to insist on completing the bonding until I had spoken to them." She filled her hand with soap and began gently working it into his chest muscles. He groaned. "I will keep my part of the agreement." Her hand dropped lower. He gasped. "However, if you should decide, for whatever reason, that you wish to renegotiate I will not complain." She raised up and kissed him. "Now relax and let me help you." To her relief, he did so.

She massaged his quivering muscles in systematic fashion, using every bit of skill she'd acquired in the weeks she'd spent exploring his body, discovering his pleasure centers. Several times he whimpered and nearly fell, but she held him up. As she worked, ignoring her own needs entirely to focus on him, the skin contact between them allowed her to sense both a marginal decrease in his pain and a significant increase in his sexual frustration. His physical response to her touch was obvious, but he was in no condition to do anything about it.

Finally, T'Riss shut off the water and steered him to the air dryer vent. While the jets blew warm air at him from multiple directions, she went to work with a soft towel turning and wiping him down. He nearly fell over, semi-conscious. She had to half carry him to the bunk, and tucked him in without bothering to dress him. He winced reflexively when she helped him settle his arms and legs.

"This is not acceptable, Daniel," she told him softly. "Again, I am causing you pain."

"No," he murmured. "Feels good. Warm. Nice 'n warm."

Her warmth offered him comfort? Excellent.

T'Riss slid in behind him, also still nude, and pressed herself against his back. Daniel sighed in relief and relaxed against her. The complete body contact, along with Daniel's exhausted state, amplified the bond to something very near to a melding experience. She could feel every throbbing ache, every sore muscle that screamed when he moved as if he were being stabbed. The pain was as bad as any beating Natolya had ever administered—not as bad as the pain sticks the guards had used, but easily as bad as the mistress's whip.

Daniel was asleep already. T'Riss caressed his chest and took a deep breath of his scent. She had to do something. This could not continue.

_I will not lose him. If I must fight the kalifee myself, I will. I cannot live without him now, and I have no intention of trying. _

#

The Betazoid ambassador was, to be generous, a very ordinary looking and somewhat portly middle aged woman, a fact which surprised Namala. Before meeting Melaine, she'd never before met a homely Betazoid. What was even more surprising was the fact that Melaine of the Fifth House had not one, but _two _positively beautiful young men at her beck and call. Ostensibly, they were her secretary and her chauffeur, but Namala suspected that Melaine's boys did more than take notes and drive her around.

The one sitting beside Melaine—Baren, Namala assumed, since Trant was the chauffeur and presumably was with the car, although the two of them were so physically similar she had trouble telling them apart—rose to take the tea tray from Namala. He smiled an impossibly charming smile as he set the tray on a low table between Lady Arithnae and Melaine and began to pour the tea, an acrid brew Arithnae preferred. Arithnae took it unsweetened, as usual. Melaine had obviously tasted the stuff before, and held her cup out expectantly without saying anything. Baren dropped four cubes of sweetener in without missing a beat. He didn't serve himself.

Namala moved the tea tray to the sideboard and began dishing out servings of fruit with sweet cream, trying not to think of all of the more useful things she could be doing. Unfortunately, Morriston the butler had given his notice shortly after the departure of her ladyship's body servant that morning. Young Amelie was apparently his second cousin's eldest daughter. Namala wasn't against nepotism, per se. There were three members of her immediate family on staff. But it was inconvenient at times.

Behind her, Arithnae and Melaine continued their discussion. Baren settled back into his seat and took up his padd and stylus with an attentive expression. "These so-called 'Darkblades' are most definitely _not _a legally recognized Betazoid House, my lady," Melaine asserted. "On my home planet they are, at best, an impediment to honest businesswomen attempting to make a legitimate profit."

"I have heard that the laws on Betazed regulating commerce penalize the lesser houses to such an extent that it is virtually impossible for a business to succeed unless it is sponsored by one of the greater houses," Arithnae countered, "And that the Darkblades ensure that lesser houses have a competitive opportunity."

"If you call midnight assassinations of elected officials who refuse to give preference to lesser houses over their betters 'ensuring a competitive opportunity'," scoffed Melaine. Arithnae inclined her head. Namala stepped up with her tray to offer the fruit dishes, noting that Arithnae seemed impressed rather than dismayed by the news of the Darkblades' tactics. Melaine took a dish with a distractedly polite smile. Arithnae waved Namala away with a perfunctory motion.

"I see," she said in a dry tone. "And so, I assume that you are requesting my assistance with the local chapter of this organization in an attempt to prevent loss of life." Namala turned away with the tray, set it on the sideboard, and busied herself wiping down the spotless varnished surface with a hand towel, quite unnecessarily, and listening. No one seemed to notice.

"Of course, my lady" Melaine returned with an ingratiating smile. "I wouldn't impose upon you for a lesser reason."

"Specifically what sort of assistance do you require, and what payment do you propose?" inquired Arithnae, getting directly to the point. It was a good question. Arithnae was in the import/export business. Unrestricted trade was in her best interests. It seemed to Namala that the Darkblades were the people she should be negotiating with, not this woman. And unless Arithnae had ties that Namala wasn't privy to, exactly how she might be able to help with such a problem was also a mystery.

"The Darkblades have called in some very dangerous assistance," replied Melaine. "We can't afford to allow him on planet. We'd like some help to…prevent his arrival."

#

"This won't work, lad. You're in no shape to stand a watch," Jenrali told him. "You can barely sit there."

"I'll loosen up in a few minutes," Daniel promised. "I just need a little time to stretch things out and get the blood flowing." He shifted carefully in his seat, using both arms to adjust his legs and reposition himself. "It's only for two or three days until the soreness goes away," he explained. "After that, I'll keep getting stronger and faster."

"Until then, what happens if we have an emergency?" Jenrali snorted.

"That's what adrenalin is for," Daniel grinned. "In a real emergency I'm immune to pain, remember?"

"Pah," Jenrali grimaced. "Much good it does you. After the fight's over, you collapse like a sack of wet snow."

"That's the point," Daniel said. "Once the fight's over, I can afford to collapse." He started scanning the immediate area. "Need to make a slight course correction, Boss. Data heading your way." He pressed a key to send the stream to the piloting console. "Probably that pulsar yesterday threw off the nav comp."

"Most likely," Jenrali agreed, making the adjustments. "So tell me what kind of-"

_"Damin to control room! Romulan under cloak is closing at attack speed!"_

"Shit," Daniel said mildly. "They're worse than Orions." He activated the internal alarm system. "Phase cannon charging. Torpedos active. Hull plating energized."

"Any luck spotting him?" Jenrali asked, keeping his voice under control as well. The ladder rungs started clanging in a doppler effect as T'Riss bounded up the access shaft and dove for the co-pilot's seat.

"Not yet, Captain," Daniel reported crisply. "Using the algorithms and modified setting that we used - there he is... heading 102.6X by 1322Y by 33.4Z."

"Got it, Lad." Jenrali twisted _Lerteiran_ and dove directly for the cloaked ship. On Daniel's screen it seemed as if the Romulan paused for a moment as if astonished before starting to dodge.

"Target attempting to evade, adjusted heading 89.14X by 26.02Y by 37.54Z," Daniel reported. "Get me five seconds of steady bead and I'll rip him."

"If I could get five seconds steady I could beat him open with my boots, lad," Jenrali growled. "Hold on." The engine's normal hum rose to a whine, then up through a moan to an anguished scream. The ship's structure started vibrating with stress as Jenrali rotated her through a barrel roll.

_"How. Many. Times! Do I have to tell you! This is not an iceworm forsaken battle cruiser!"_

"Sehlra's not even cursing," Daniel pointed out, "That's a real good sign." He leaned forward. "Target acquired. No. Target not acquired. It won't lock on. Dammit!"

"The distortion of the holographic field is no doubt interfering," T'Riss said. "Perhaps this will help." She sent an augmented replication of the starfield to Daniel's terminal. "Can you use the additional data points to supplement the manual firing lock?"

"I can sure try." He grinned at her and fed the data into the fire control console. "Oh yeah. That did it. Beautiful, warm, and handy in a fight. Hot dang." Jenrali laughed. Daniel stole a quick glance to see T'Riss hunched over her board. Her ear tips were green.

Jenrali brought the ship around in a sudden arcing curve and lined up her bow perfectly. Daniel's fingers flew across his board. "Getting it... got it! Firing." All over the ship, lights dimmed and air circulation slowed as the cannon sucked life from the reactor.

From the bow of _Lerteiran,_ a log-thick blast of energy leaped across space to sweep through the distortion that wrapped the Romulan ship. The cloak wasn't disturbed, but a spray of minor debris suddenly erupted from apparent nothingness. The sensors on _Lerteiran_ registered a course change on the part of the sensor anomaly. It turned and headed away from them at warp four.

"Interesting," Daniel said. "Never heard of a Romulan running before."

"Nor I." T'Riss looked concerned.

"Get that Betazoid up here," Jenrali growled. "I want some answers and he has them."

She pressed the comm. "Damin to the control room."

#

Sehlra looked at him. "Well?" The look in her eyes was bad enough. The thoughts behind the look hurt much worse. "Don't lie to me anymore, Damin. I saw your face. I felt it when you learned something." She kept her eyes on him, ignoring the readout in front of her.

Damin looked away. She probably had. They had been together so often lately, shared so much, and so deeply, that a bonding had formed. Andorians didn't bond as tightly as Vulcans, but the _tlasp_ was by no means a superficial connection. And he had opened himself to her more than anyone else he could remember. She probably had already picked up more than he intended for her to know.

"I didn't lie," he said quietly. "Everything I told you was the truth. Every word. I admit that I didn't reveal everything about my past."

"So what I felt was right," Sehlra nodded in confirmation. "They weren't after the Vulcans."

"No. They were after me," Damin admitted tiredly.

"Why did they run?" Sehlra leaned against the console.

_"Damin to the control room! Get your blasted pink hide up here, boy! Don't make me tell you again!"_

Sehlra jabbed the comm button. "Dry your ice cutter, old man. I'm talking to him about something important right now. You can have him when I'm done and not before. If you don't like it, come down here yourself." She jabbed it again and turned back. "Why did they run?" she repeated.

"You already guessed it," he told her with a tiny smile. "Because they know what I can do and they didn't want to risk me picking up useful information in case they failed. When they realized that we could find them despite their cloak, they decided the risk was too high. "

"So tell me why." Sehlra looked like she would be willing to wait until he starved into submission. He slumped.

"I already told you that I was once an agent for the Tal Shiar." She nodded. "I didn't tell you that the commander of the Romulan ship we fought at the Orion station was my mother. She had been sent by the empire to kill me."

Sehlra didn't move. She didn't even seem to be breathing. Damin gritted his teeth and get the rest out before he lost his nerve. "They're never going to stop looking for me. That's why I..." He looked lost. Then he looked down. "I can't stay with you, no matter that I would rather lose my hands than lose you. But they will try again when we get to Risa. It is certain. I can't risk you and the others on this ship. As soon as we-"

She had him in a tight embrace before he knew she was in motion. "You're going nowhere, Damin. Enough foolish talk. You're not among Romulans now. We don't turn on our own here." Sehlra laid her forehead against his and brushed her antennae against his temples. Love, acceptance, pity, loyalty, and a host of other things overwhelmed him. His knees buckled. She caught him and helped him to the nearest seat. Which happened to be the only seat, actually.

"I can't," he protested, albeit feebly. "You don't know what they're capable of."

"They don't know what we're capable of either," she told him with a wry half-smile "You sit there. I'm going up to talk to Jenrali. Between you and Daniel, it sounds like we're going to have a busy visit to this pleasure planet. But then, I always did hate a boring shore leave."

#

T'Riss entered the hotel that her mother had designated with tension rising in direct proportion to proximity. As she walked into the lobby fear struck her like the massive fist of Natolya's chief bodyguard, directly into the abdomen. She held her face stiff and her spine upright while pacing with measured steps across the gleaming, inlaid floor to the information kiosk.

The live attendant, typical of Risian extravagance, directed her to the third floor, rear section. Rather than take the lift she decided that the stairs would be a useful outlet for her pent up frustrations. At least it would buy her a little more time to seek inner balance. But no matter how slowly she walked, she could not avoid the meeting forever.

T'Riss paused in the hallway briefly for a final adjustment of her appearance. The ship's coverall was relatively clean, except for Daniel's scent, which was precisely her intention. A smile flickered over her face. She looked down for a moment and gently polished her ring. Her left hand closed into a fist. The right hand rose to press the door comm.

"_Enter"_

The portal slid aside and T'Riss walked into the most sumptuous meeting room she had ever seen. The area was huge. A broad skylight illuminated a sparkling fountain against the right hand wall, which spilled into a meandering stream that curved across a third of the floor before disappearing into the far wall. Two low couches with an organically irregular table between them were situated in the center of a carpet that was ankle deep and softer than Sehlat fur. A bar for dispensing potables occupied the entire left hand wall, while the remaining space was occupied by artistic works of various types and subjects.

Her parents stood waiting.

T'Riss could not breathe. _"How can I do this? Daniel, you were right, this will be the most difficult thing I have ever done. But they will disown me in any case. And how can I endure that? It has been so long..."_ The tears would not be denied, fight them though she did.

"Daughter." It was her father, offering her his smile, a rare treat reserved for her alone. Her mother expressed her love through her eyes without changing expression, a talent that T'Riss had always sought to emulate but never mastered. She shivered herself to stiff attention and brought up the ta'al.

"Peace and long life to you, Mother, Father. It is most agreeable to see you again. I trust that your journey was without incident." Her mother nodded approvingly, but her father's expression looked troubled. She had never been able to hide anything from him and probably never would.

"Our journey was uneventful, Daughter," her mother told her. "It is reassuring to see you apparently in good health. Come, be seated and speak with us."

Every muscle taut, T'Riss marched over to the indicated couch and perched on the edge. Her parents sat together on the other couch and regarded her. Her father said slowly, "The report we received from the Fleet was lacking in detail. Tell us of your condition, T'Riss-kan. How far have you progressed in your healing? Both in mind and body?"

T'Riss managed to answer calmly, "Physically, I am fully recovered. Mentally and emotionally I am damaged beyond repair." Both of her parents stiffened. "However, I have received treatment from a variety of sources, including a specialist healer-melder, and I am taking medication to assist me in maintaining stability."

"I am unwilling to accept the assertion that your injuries cannot be fully healed, Daughter," her mother told her, with the light of real concern in her eyes. "This is yet another point in favor of your betrothal with the young man we escorted here. He is a healer who intends to specialize as a healer-melder."

_"And now it comes,"_ T'Riss thought, closing her eyes.

"That will not be possible, Mother," she said flatly. "I am already betrothed." Her mother sat frozen, while her father merely raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"This is unexpected news," he told her with his usual tone of good humor. "It is generally customary to notify one's family in such circumstances."

"There was no feasible opportunity prior to our arrival, Father," T'Riss explained. He nodded.

"I am surprised that you have not brought the boy to meet us," his mother said grimly. "Is he aware of our arrival?"

"Yes," T'Riss told her. "He offered to accompany me. But I told him that I wished to confront you regarding this matter unassisted, at least at first."

"A confrontation should not be necessary," her father said. He shot a warning look toward his wife, who didn't seem impressed by it. "Perhaps the boy will be acceptable. At worst, the candidate that traveled with us will have made the trip for nothing, but that was always a possibility."

T'Riss sat up and squared her shoulders. "I believe that a confrontation will occur, since I am confident that you will not approve of my choice. However, since I also expect to be cast out of the clan it is of no consequence." She tightened her jawline and sat stiffly, looking at the far wall and refusing to meet their eyes.

Silence held sway in the room for a significant length of time. Finally her mother asked tightly, "Why do you believe that you will be cast out, T'Riss? What have you done? And what makes this boy so unacceptable?"

"I-"

She could not say it. Suddenly T'Riss found herself standing across the room, staring at the fountain with no memory of moving. Every emotion she could name, and many she could not, crashed and stormed within her.

"T'Riss." It was her father's voice, standing behind her. "Small One." It was his pet name for her as a child. "Look at me." She could not disobey him. He stood watching her with the same calm humor in his eyes that she remembered from years gone by. Her father crossed his arms and offered her the fingertip greeting that she had neglected when first entering. T'Riss felt her throat close in pain as she responded in kind. For the last time, she thought.

_"No, Small One."_ Her father's thought came through the touch. The parental bond between them had always been unusually strong, but never had she heard him so clearly. He continued aloud, "It does not matter what you have done, or failed to do, T'Riss. I do not care. You are my daughter. You will be my daughter for all of time. If your mother's clan casts you out, you will still be my daughter. You cannot escape me, no matter what you do."

She collapsed against him and her control broke. T'Riss started crying in his arms as she had not done since she was four years old. He held her and stroked her hair, as he had on that long ago day when her sehlat had died of old age. She became vaguely aware of her mother approaching and putting a hand on her back. They stood together for a timeless age.

Finally T'Riss drained the fear which had been building for sixteen days. He meant it. If no one else stood with her, she would not lose her father. She raised her head timidly and saw her mother with a sad expression on her face. The sight was shocking. Her mother did not reveal her emotions.

T'Rel took T'Riss's cheeks between her palms tenderly. "Did you think we would abandon our own daughter?"

"You." She sniffed, her breaths still coming in spasmodic gasps. "You don't. Know. What I have done." T'Riss broke free and walked back toward the middle of the room, turning to face them as she gained some distance. "I surrendered. Most of the others died fighting. But I didn't. I surrendered. I let them capture me." She shuddered. "I let them make me a slave. A _whore!"_ Her teeth started chattering and she hugged herself.

"Small One," her father, took her arm. "There is no need for this now."

"Yes. Father. There is," she insisted. "You must know. You must know what I am. What I did." Her mother took her other arm and her parents shared a look. They led her between them to the couch and sat her down.

"They trained us," T'Riss whispered, bending forward over her folded arms to stare at the fur carpet. "They raped us. All of us, all of the women who survived. The men too, some of them." One of her parents made a sound. She couldn't tell which one. "But that wasn't enough. They wanted us to serve them. So they beat us. When that did not work, they starved us and denied us water. Still it did not work." She took a breath. "Then they used Klingon pain sticks," she added, and shuddered. "Some of us broke after a while. The pain was indescribable. We were put to work... servicing... the Orion's... customers. Many of them paid well for the chance to use a Vulcan woman." She wrapped both arms around her chest and started rocking forward and back—an instinctive self-soothing motion.

They sat on either side of her, close and warm. Her mother and father crossed their arms across her back, and then joined hands across her front, locking her inside a warm cage of parental flesh. She had not felt this safe in many years. Things inside her began to loosen a bit.

"I lost count." Her voice sounded lost even to herself. "I do not remember how many there were. Orions, Andorians, Klingons, Nausicans, Tellarites, many others. Male, female, or some gender unknown to me, it did not matter. All that mattered was their latinum." She sank back into the over-padded couch. "Finally Natolya came and told us that they had found something to make it easier for us. Easier!" T'Riss started laughing bitterly, to the point of near hysteria. "She said it would help us in our work."

"Daughter!" Her mother's voice was like a slap in the face. T'Riss sobered instantly. She blinked and sagged. Then she put her face in her hands and told them about the Pon Farr microbe. The hissing intake of her father's breath would have been a scream of rage from a man of any other race.

"Can they... How..." Her mother was lost and showed it. "How did they obtain it?"

"The database aboard our ship contained the information," T'Riss said matter-of-factly. "The Orions paid a bounty for anyone who would go to the planet and obtain samples of the marsupial that carried it. Then they cultured it. Simplicity itself, as Natolya told us proudly." Her lips twisted. "They used it often. Sometimes when a pirate had made a particularly profitable run, he would hire several whores for the night and all of his crew would use us together in a single room. Vulcans in fever were always very popular on those nights," she said bitterly.

They sat stunned. Plainly this was infinitely worse than their worst anticipations.

"You require hospitalization and treatment," her mother said decisively. "This kind of abuse cannot possibly be healed in such a brief time period. You will return to Vulcan with us immediately to begin therapy."

"No, I will not." It was a simple declaration, a statement of defiance spoken without heat, and all the more astonishing because of it.

"Daughter," her father began. "You are ill. Your judgment-"

T'Riss pushed out from between them. "My judgment has indeed been flawed for an extended period, but I have received treatment, as I told you earlier. I was offered a choice. I can live with the damage I have suffered or I can have the memories of this trauma excised from my mind. In effect, I can undergo artificially induced amnesia. This would return me to approximately the state that I was in when I originally boarded _The Plains of Gol_.

"Then you can be fully cured," her mother looked up hopefully.

"I will not submit to having my mind butchered," T'Riss said distantly. "I have made my decision."

"The decision is not yours to make, Daughter," her mother said. "You acknowledge that you are mentally impaired. As next of kin-"

"You are no longer my next of kin, Mother," she interrupted her. T'Rel stopped and stared.

"Yes," her father said dryly. "Let us return to this boy. You said that you are betrothed. If you are not yet married, then I do not believe that he has any authority, but if he cares about your health why would he object? Surely he can accompany you."

"He cares about my health," T'Riss said, sighing. "But he owns a partnership interest in a trading vessel which will soon be departing. I will be aboard it when it leaves Risa, with my mate."

"That remains to be seen, girl," T'Rel snapped. "If he is not appropriate for you then you will not-"

"I-am-a-convicted-criminal-and-my-betrothed-is-Human." She pushed it out in a single breathless rush and stood waiting for the lirpa to fall.

Her mother was plainly dumbstruck. Too many shocks, too close together had rendered her incapable of further response for the moment. Saran, on the other hand, tightened his mouth and stood up.

"Clarify your last statement, Daughter," he ordered her. His tone made it plain that he was, in fact, giving her an order. A lifetime of ingrained habit forced an immediate response.

"I was taken by the Orion station leader for his personal concubine," she whispered harshly. "I suspect he chose me because I was the youngest and smallest, but I never discovered for certain. After a sustained period of almost daily rapes while under the influence of plak tau, a mating bond formed between us."

A dull crack drew both of their eyes to T'Rel. Her mother had just snapped the arm off the side of the couch. "You said..." Her mother paused and visibly fought for control. "You said that your betrothed is Human."

"Yes," T'Riss said flatly. "Daniel killed my mate." A sudden realization caused her eyes to open wide. "He... killed... Grigor-Tel," she whispered. "I chose him, and he killed my mate." Her eyes brightened. "Now he is my betrothed. Of course..."

The sound her father made with his exhalation was not quite a growl. "I will speak with this Human. But first, daughter, you will explain your claim of being a criminal. Killing your captor is not a crime. Choosing a champion to kill an abusive mate is not criminal behavior either. I do not recall the option being exercised in living memory, but given the circumstances no one will fault you for it."

T'Riss told him with as much dignity as she could muster, "You are mistaken, Father. Commander T'Lar certainly found fault with my choice. I am also guilty of kidnapping, assault and battery, sabotage of Fleet property, conspiracy to commit telepathic attack, and assisting a prisoner to escape." They stared at her.

"Why are you not confined?" T'Rel asked in a monotone. T'Riss closed her eyes.

"Because Daniel refused to press charges for the kidnapping, assault, and conspiracy. Under the circumstances, Commander T'Lar chose to inflict administrative discipline for the lesser offenses. Specifically, she assigned me to duty aboard _Lerteiran._"

"I foresee an extended period of meditation tonight," her father said. "And no doubt for the foreseeable future as well. Are you willing to introduce me to..." He stopped and took several breaths. "Your betrothed?"

"I am," T'Riss told him. "If you are willing to give him an unbiased evaluation based on his own merits rather than his genetics."

"His genetics would be unacceptable even if he were Vulcan unless he was a member of your own class," T'Rel told her. "Can you not understand this?"

"My wife, you will be silent."

The two women froze in shock. T'Riss could not remember her father _ever_ giving her mother a direct command.

T'Rel rose to her feet in slow wrath. "Husband," she said, "this matter is the responsib-"

_"Will you defy my authority as Head of House?"_ T'Rel's jaw dropped open. Then she closed it and blinked at him as if she'd never seen him before. "This matter has passed beyond your purview, wife," he told her firmly, moderating his tone. "It no longer involves merely arranging a marriage. We now face involvement with potentially dangerous aliens. I will inform you when and if circumstances permit your authority to resume."

"There will be no danger unless I am forced to invoke the challenge," T'Riss assured him. Her father shot her a look that was less affectionate than any he had previously given her since her arrival.

"You would shame your family by choosing the challenge?" he demanded. She lifted her chin.

"Yes."

He closed his eyes in pain. "Take me to this Human boy. How big is this Human trading ship? What is his position aboard it?"

"It is not a Human ship," T'Riss said as she led the way to the door.

"You said he owned a partnership interest in it," Saran objected.

"He does," T'Riss explained, opening the door. "His two partners are both Andorian."

Her father made no audible reply. She was afraid to turn and check his expression.

#

Daniel picked up his bo staff and began with the simplest kata. Strike, return. Block, return. Strike, block, return. Strike, strike, return. Strike, block, strike, return. The staff swept around through increasingly complex figures as he combined its movements with the placement of his feet like a dancer. The heavy bag that Sehlra had made for him was rocking under the impacts. It felt good. It felt damn good. Strike, block strike, _sidekick_.

Daniel landed the heaviest kick he had. It impacted solidly against the bag and ripped its bottom anchor loose from the floor. "Yeah." He stopped and mopped sweat. "Finally starting to come back. About time." He caught the bag to stop its swinging and bent to reattach the anchor when the door comm buzzed.

Daniel straightened with his staff in hand. "Come in." The latching bolts shot back and the hatch slid open to reveal T'Riss. He smiled in relief. "Hi, hon. How'd did it go?" He dropped the staff into its rack and went to meet her. She seemed tense and he started to get worried.

"Daniel." T'Riss stopped. Suddenly she took his face between her hands and kissed him. He gladly reciprocated. She hung on and whispered in a frightened voice, "My father has come. He wants to speak with you."

Daniel felt his gut tighten. "Well, then. I shouldn't keep him waiting, should I?" He managed a reassuring smile but he could tell through their tightening bond that she didn't buy it. "Don't worry, it's gonna be ok."

"Worry is illogical," T'Riss said. "But my father is not pleased with the situation."

"In fairness, did you expect him to be?" Daniel took a deep breath. "Do I have time to clean up first before he gets here? I stink like a horse after all this exercise."

"He is waiting in the corridor outside," she told him, biting her lower lip unconsciously. She glanced over her shoulder and dropped back to a whisper, "My mother is adamantly opposed, but I believe that my father might possibly be persuaded, although I do not know what you might do to accomplish this." She looked at his expression. "I am sorry, Daniel."

He put his hands on her shoulders. "All I want to know is this. Did you tell them that you were going to marry me? No matter what?"

"Yes." She looked him in the eye. "You are my betrothed. You will be my mate. Nothing and no one is going to change that. I told them this."

"Then I'll face down your father, your mother, and your entire clan with a toothpick if I have to," Daniel swore with a reassuring smile. "You kept your promise. Now it's time for me to keep mine." He wondered at the look in her eyes, but had no time to ask about it before a Vulcan man of middle years stepped through the hatch.

"Your voices carried," he said. "I thought it would be more appropriate to conduct this conversation with the hatch closed." He turned and did just that. When he turned back he found Daniel offering the ta'al.

"Peace and long life to you, Saran, father of she who is to be my wife," Daniel told him in flawless Vulcan. "Be welcome aboard my ship, you and your family. I offer you water and rest."

Saran's eyes narrowed, but he responded to the greeting. "Live long and prosper, Daniel. My daughter informs me that you have been her protector and provider since her rescue from the Orions. Her family is in your debt."

"There is no debt, Saran," Daniel told him firmly. "How could I not provide for my own?" He turned to T'Riss. "T'hy'la, will you escort your father to the galley for water and tea while I freshen myself? I have no desire to offend by my scent."

"There is no need," Saran said grimly. Daniel stiffened and T'Riss turned her head away with a tiny gasp.

"You refuse my water." Daniel felt his jaw muscles tighten. "Do you then come to declare yourself my enemy?" T'Riss turned back to grab his arm.

"Please, Daniel," she whispered in English. "He is my father."

Daniel touched her cheek with two fingers. He turned back to Saran and waited. T'Riss' father watched the two of them broodingly. "You have taught him much of our customs, Daughter," he grudgingly acknowledged. "It speaks well of him that he was willing to learn."

"I did not teach him, Father," T'Riss stood tall. "Daniel lived and worked on Vulcan for several years. He was even fostered by a Vulcan family." Saran visibly reacted to this news. He blinked and stiffened.

"You did not mention this." He looked at Daniel with new respect in his eyes.

"What possible difference could it make?" Daniel was starting to get miffed with the old guy's attitude. "Even if I am not the illiterate savage you expected, my blood is still red. Your grandchildren are still going to be half-breeds."

Saran raised an eyebrow and looked him up and down. Then he surveyed the cargo hold. He checked out the heavy bag, the blade throwing target, the mats, and the hanging ropes. Then he looked back at Daniel. "You seem to be operating under a misapprehension. My personal objections are not based on your species, young man. That would be in direct contradiction to the Kirshara and thus a violation of Surak's teachings. I am concerned about many things, but your race is not one of them."

Daniel looked at T'Riss, whose face was brightening with hope. He felt puzzled. She believed him? He looked back at the old guy_._

_What is this guy after, anyway?_

"Tell us, Father," she said. She sounded pleased, even eager. "I am certain that we can answer your concerns."

"Are you aware of the full extent to which my daughter has suffered?" Saran asked Daniel bluntly. "Do you know what happened to her?"

"Yes." Daniel stood with his hands folded neatly in front of him, in the standard position of a Vulcan who was offering respectful attention to an elder. He was starting to cool off a bit. The old man was only worried about his little girl.

Saran waited, but nothing more came out of Daniel's mouth. His forehead started to wrinkle when T'Riss broke in, "Daniel saw me when I was still a captive. He knows everything, Father." She added quickly, "He attempted to help me escape before the Fleet cruisers arrived, but circumstances did not permit it."

"Indeed?" Saran asked thoughtfully. "I am told by my daughter that you were responsible for killing her captor. How did this come to pass?"

T'Riss tensed. Daniel gave her a reassuring smile. He told Saran, "The Vulcan Fleet posted a reward for Grigor-Tel, dead or alive. But he had escaped and no one knew where. T'Riss came and offered to..." He stopped and looked at her.

"I told them that I was bonded to him, Daniel," she said weakly, looking down. He rubbed her back for a second then turned to Saran again.

"T'Riss offered to use her bond to help us track him, as long as we agreed to kill him. We agreed, and we killed him. End of story." Daniel looked blandly at Saran.

"T'Riss spoke as if you were the one who had killed him alone," Saran looked at his daughter sternly.

"I'm the ship's weapon's officer," Daniel explained. "I did the shooting."

"Ah." Saran's face smoothed. "So your hand was on the weapon that ended his life?"

"Yes."

Saran continued, "And you killed him after T'Riss specifically came and requested that you do so? She did not request that you merely find him? She specifically and explicitly asked you to kill him? Knowing at the time that you were the weapon's officer?"

"Hm...let me think." Daniel struggled to remember. "I know that she and I had talked prior to that point, and I had told her about my ship, and my partners, and how things worked here." He looked up, "So, yeah. She knew Jenrali is the pilot and senior partner, Sehlra is the chief engineer, and I'm the comm, nav, and weapons officer. And she wanted him dead."

Saran looked at his daughter, but continued speaking to Daniel. "There will be those who maintain that T'Riss is not mentally competent to choose a partner for herself. How will you answer them?"

"I will let T'Riss answer them the way she answered me when I asked the same thing," Daniel told him. Open surprise flashed across Saran's face like heat lightning and was gone.

"Yes," she answered the question that her father didn't ask. "Daniel hesitated to accept me, both for my sake and for his own, but I have sought treatment from the healers aboard both of the rescue cruisers, as well as a melder-healer aboard one of the medical relief ships that were sent to follow them. I have been certified competent to take responsibility for my own actions. Otherwise Commander T'Lar would not have permitted me to return to duty. Nor would she have held me responsible for my misbehavior." Saran tugged thoughtfully on his lower lip. For a Vulcan to engage in such a thoughtless gesture indicated serious mental turmoil. Daniel decided to proceed with extreme care.

"If you prefer," he looked at T'Riss. "And if T'Riss is agreeable... I would have no objection to letting T'Riss be evaluated by a healer of your choosing. Again, if and only if T'Riss agrees to it." He looked questioningly at her.

T'Riss considered briefly, then nodded. "I am willing. I understand your concern, Father."

Saran looked at the pair of them. "If you have already been evaluated and certified I see no reason to add to the redundancy. Are you willing to permit your mother and me to read the psych reports? The full reports?" T'Riss tightened.

"Father. There are some things-" She turned to Daniel helplessly.

"I haven't read them, and I have no intention of reading them. Even after we marry," he told Saran. "If a person can't have privacy inside their own head, where can they have it? T'Riss is an adult. She deserves the dignity of being treated like one."

Saran nodded slowly. "Good. I wondered if you had read them. It is agreeable to hear you speak of respect. Do you realize that many among our clan will not respect you because of your race? It is not an issue with me, but not all of our people have adopted Surak's teachings in their entirety."

"I know," Daniel said tiredly. "Believe me, I know. I used to work at the shipyards. I know exactly how many Vulcans talk Surak but act Andorian." Saran's nostrils flared but he made no comment. "I knew that when we decided to get married."

"Why then, did you choose my daughter?" Saran wanted to know. "Explain the logic of your decision to me."

"The logic?" Daniel felt the beginnings of amusement. "There are many kinds of logic, Saran. Mating doesn't lend itself to most of them. I can tell you that I find your daughter beautiful and intelligent. I've watched her struggle through an incredibly difficult serious of situations and I judge her to be courageous and honorable." He glanced at T'Riss and saw her watching him with shining eyes. "She's strong in spirit. What she endured would have broken a lesser woman. But she survived and overcame it." He looked thoughtfully at the older man. "I will speak bluntly."

"That would be agreeable." Saran gave him a direct look.

"Potential mates are difficult for me to find in space. Since our ship is smaller than some, we generally trade along the borderlands where cargoes tend to be small with high profit margins, which makes it even more difficult for me to locate a potential mate." Daniel paused for breath.

"So you chose my daughter by default," Saran said. He did not sound pleased.

Daniel snorted. "No. Not likely. I chose T'Riss because there was no way I was ever going to get the chance to marry another girl of her quality. I might, or I might not, have been otherwise interested in seeking a wife at this time. But when T'Riss came along I realized that she represented the kind of opportunity that most men never get in a lifetime. Where else, how else, is a man like me going to find a woman like her?" Daniel turned back to T'Riss and touched her arm. She smiled and took his hand, gripping it tightly in the Human fashion.

"I acknowledge that the probability of you two meeting under ordinary circumstances would be low," Saran said wryly. "I have three additional questions."

"Ask them," Daniel said.

"Are you sufficiently familiar with our customs to understand the significance of the fact that you killed my daughter's previous mate at her request?" Saran waited. First Daniel felt puzzlement, then surprise, and finally delight.

"Well, crap!" He grinned broadly until he remembered who was looking at him. Scrambling to regain a semblance of dignity he told Saran, "I, uh, I ask pardon for my unseemly display of emotion. I had not considered the ramifications of this fact until you pointed it out to me." Despite his best efforts, Daniel couldn't keep a smile from forcing its way back on his face.

"From your reaction, I conclude that you do in fact understand the significance," Saran sighed. "Under our traditions, since T'Riss prefers to honor the outcome of the battle, your betrothal is automatically valid. The only way to prevent your marriage would be to persuade another candidate to challenge you on behalf of the clan."

"That would be unfortunate," Daniel told him sincerely. "I dislike the taking of life when it is not required. I've been forced to kill members of other races, but never a Vulcan. I hope I never have to."

"You will not." Saran looked tired. "I will not permit the matter to progress to that point. In any case, the boy that T'Rel had arranged for T'Riss is a healer. It is unlikely that he would be willing to engage in lethal combat, given the typical healer's reverence for life."

"What were your other questions, Father?" T'Riss wanted to know.

"Will you both be willing to meet with T'Rel?" he asked them, "T'Riss, will you also be willing to meet with your intended and his family so that you can assist in explaining the situation to them?"

"We'll both meet with them," Daniel said firmly. T'Riss relaxed against him in obvious relief. "But I'm going to take a shower first. If I accomplish nothing else today, I am going to get clean."

"Then my final question is this," Saran said. "You spoke earlier of children. Do you seriously intend to attempt to have them? And if so, do you plan to raise them aboard this ship?"

"Yes, we plan to have them. No, we will not be raising them on this ship," Daniel told him, to Saran's blatant relief. "It will be a while, though."

Saran nodded. "I will depart then, and inform my wife of these developments." He looked at T'Riss. "Daughter, notify us prior to your departure."

"Yes, Father," she told him. Saran turned and walked toward the hatch, looking like it wouldn't take much for him to start shaking his head.

#

T'Riss and Daniel secured the airlock behind Saran. Then they turned to find a pair of eager Andorians plus a mildly interested Betazoid watching them from the foot of the access ladder. "Well?" Sehlra demanded.

Daniel grinned and made a triumphant fist. "We got 'em!" The trio broke into smiles and came forward.

"Tell us, you two," Jenrali ordered. "Situation report. Out with it."

T'Riss took a breath. "My family will accept Daniel."

"Excellent," Damin approved. "I could be wrong, but I didn't detect anything that seemed like your father was going to disown you, either."

T'Riss pressed her lips together. "Father has promised me that even if my mother's clan casts me out he will continue to acknowledge me." She swallowed hard. "Mother has not made a specific statement to that effect, but she did not seem inclined to break off contact."

Daniel picked her up in a bear hug and spun her around. He set her down with a big wet kiss. "Nobody could ever walk away from you," he told her sincerely. She grabbed his shirt and dragged him close enough to bury her face in his chest for a moment, just breathing in his scent. He wrapped his arms around her and looked back at the rest of the crowd.

"You mean," Sehlra said, "that after all this, there was no trouble about it? You won't have to fight? They had no problem with you marrying her?"

Daniel cleared his throat. "Not exactly. The, um, the thing is... I forgot about something. I'm an idiot actually."

"No." T'Riss pulled back. "Stop that, Daniel, unless you want another slap." Damin smirked in the background. "You are well acquainted with my people's customs, but they are _my people's customs. _I am the one who should have remembered this."

"You going to tell us about this?" Jenrali growled. "Or do we have to stand here and play guessing games?"

Daniel scratched his nose. "The thing is..."

"You said that already," Jenrali pointed out.

"Yeah," Daniel looked flustered. "Well, you remember that T'Riss had a bond with Grigor-Tel?"

"Yeeees?" Sehlra answered impatiently. "And?"

Daniel sped up a bit. "Vulcan law is getting shuffled around right now, with the Kirshara and everything. But the way it works is this. Surak wrote that the presence of a mating bond is equivalent to being married. So, even though they weren't legally wed under Vulcan law, under the dictates of the Kirshara, Grigor-Tel was her husband."

"YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS!" Sehlra roared. She turned to T'Riss, seething, to meet an abashed nod. "NO! Those barbarians! Those Mother blasted-"

Damin reached for her. "Sehlra. Sehlra, please, beloved. Let him finish. It's over now, isn't it? Grigor-Tel is dead." He stroked her hair and the base of her antennae, hugged her and pressed his forehead against hers. Eventually she stopped quivering with rage, but she did not regain full calm by anyone's standards.

"It is true," T'Riss admitted in a small voice. "My ancestors were savages."

"Everyone's ancestor's were savages, lass," Jenrali said. "Go on, Daniel," with a wary glance at Sehlra.

Daniel took a deep breath of T'Riss' hair and planted a swift kiss on top of her head before continuing. "Now, she may have been his wife by Vulcan standards..." he waited but Damin managed to keep any new explosion contained for now, "...but he wasn't a proper husband. The way he treated her was abusive under Vulcan law."

"You think? Perhaps?" Damin muttered ironically.

"Under modern Vulcan law," Daniel went on, "an abused spouse has the option of appealing to the clan elders. If the clan elders agree that they're being mistreated, then they'll order the bond severed. The abusive spouse loses access to any children, and they'll be permanently marked in Vulcan society as a pariah. No one will ever marry them again. Their own clan will probably kick them out."

"This is the reason that Commander T'Lar was so angry about my behavior," T'Riss broke in, speaking in a subdued tone. "As she pointed out, the option of severing the bond did exist. But it would not have been complete. Once two minds have bonded some connection always remains, however tenuous."

"She's right," Damin confirmed. "A full telepath can block it and time will weaken it, but you can never break it completely. Only death will do that."

"Which is the key to this situation," Daniel started getting cheerful again. "Because in the old days there was no right of appeal for an abused spouse. Communication across the desert was slow, and it might have taken months, or even years, for a message to reach all of the clan elders. There was only one option for a wife who needed to break free from a husband that she absolutely could not endure any longer."

"Kill him," Jenrali nodded.

"Or recruit a challenger to do the killing," Daniel said. "Does your Fleet training cover the koon-ut-kalifee?"

"Yes," Sehlra had pulled free from Damin's embrace and stood grimly listening. T'Riss turned away from everyone else. "We know about the bonding as children, and the fever, and the right to challenge."

"The situation that T'Riss and I are in is something like that in reverse," Daniel told them. "Since T'Riss specifically recruited us to kill her husband and my hand was on the weapon, that gives me first option - so to speak - of being her next husband. As long as T'Riss is willing to marry me, the only way her family could stop it would be to bring up their own challenger."

"Which they will not," T'Riss turned back and told them. "My father has declared that he will not permit the situation to proceed to that point. Moreover the candidate that they had intended for me is a healer. Vulcan healers are sworn to preserve life, not take it."

Damin and Sehlra traded a significant glance for some reason. Jenrali rubbed his antenna thoughtfully. "It does sound like you have them backed up to the edge of the crevasse, lad. What now?"

"Now," Daniel suddenly deflated. "I get cleaned up and go meet my new mother-in-law."

#

T'Riss dug out fresh clothing for Daniel while the shower started running. Then she sat on the bunk and contemplated the drastic changes that had taken place in her life during the last three hours. She looked down and ran her hand over the covers. The bunk was really too narrow. They needed a bigger one. She certainly had no objection to sleeping close beside Daniel, despite his concern, but there were times in the night when one or both of them ended up with body parts hanging off into space. Perhaps they might have one installed while they were docked? It was worth suggesting.

A sudden thought came to her. _It is done. I agreed to wait until I declared myself to my parents. No longer. He is mine._

She unzipped her coverall, shedding underwear on the way to the shower. Daniel was washing his hair with his eyes closed when she slipped in behind him. T'Riss smeared soft soap all over the front of her torso, then pressed herself against his back and started using herself as a bath sponge. Daniel gasped and straightened.

His mental reaction to being thus startled opened the bond between them beyond its usual faint emotional impressions. The sweet burning ache between her thighs was something she'd rarely experienced, having never had the opportunity to engage in consensual sexual relations without the ponfarr microbe to warp her desires. It was the same feeling that Daniel's attentions always elicited during their "relaxation exercises", but multiplied a dozen fold through Daniel's perceptions. And now she would give in to it. Submitting was not a shameful thing only because he was Daniel, and she was his.

"Oh... my..." He grabbed the handholds. "T'Riss. Uh, maybe you shouldn't..."

"I have waited long enough, Daniel," she told him. "I have completed the test you required of me. Do you deny this?"

"No. I mean, I know you did what you said." His breathing was increasing in both speed and depth. "But is this the best place and time?"

"I refuse to wait longer," she told him. "Wherever we are is the best place, by definition." She slipped around to his front and kissed him deeply, while continuing to encourage his interest in the most direct manner possible.

"Oh, lord." Daniel growled. He released the handrails and pulled her beneath the steaming water with him. Runnels of heat ran through her hair and down her shoulders as he grasped her face in both hands and began devouring her, or so it seemed. Both of her arms encircled his neck, seemingly without her volition, and she returned his kiss blindly. He pulled her against the hard planes of his soap-slicked chest and abdomen, then started running his soapy hands over her slowly from shoulder to hips, around her back, up to her shoulders and down to her thighs. He kissed his way from her mouth, along her cheek to the side of her neck, and then began the process of licking and nibbling his way downward.

Her hands were not idle. They'd had little opportunity for their "exercises" since he'd begun his training program. She marveled at the change in him. Abruptly, just looking and stroking were not enough. She wanted to be possessed by him. She needed it.

"Enough." T'Riss declared."I can take no more." She turned around and grabbed the bottoms of the handrail brackets. "Now. _Now!" _

The sound Daniel made resembled nothing sapient.

To Be Continued in Episode Fourteen


	14. Chapter 14a

**The Lerteiran Chronicles**

**Episode Fourteen: Marital Relations**

**By Blacknblue and Distracted**

**Genre: Action Adventure and Romance**

**Rating: R**

**Disclaimer: We don't own the Star Trek universe. We just go there to play. Honest. **

**We do, however, own our original characters and story ideas. You are welcome to borrow them as long as no money changes hands. If we can't make anything from this, nobody else gets to either.**

**Summary: Daniel finally meets the mother of his betrothed, Lhahir may be biting off more than he can chew, Damin's loyalty is tested, and Enterprise arrives at Risa****.**

#####################################################

Once the youngsters had disappeared into their quarters, Jenrali rubbed his eyes and told Sehlra, "Take the conn. I'm going to my quarters and finish up the book keeping for this run now that those chattering harlots are finally out of the way. By the Mother's broad hips, I've never heard so much giggling, squealing, whispering, and plain out talking in one place before in my entire life."

"They do enjoy conversing," Damin admitted.

"How did you ever stand it, lad?" Jenrali asked him, looking sympathetic.

"Earplugs, Captain." The younger man fished a pair out of one hip pocket and held them up triumphantly. "I asked Dr. Phlox for some when I was on the Human ship. He gave me a whole box full of them."

"Now that's thinking ahead," Sehlra beamed proudly. "Come on, you can help me run a diagnostic on the sensors while we're docked."

"Just don't get so wrapped up in the _diagnostic_ that you forget about the ship," Jenrali growled. Then he ambled off, ignoring Sehlra's glare and Damin's grin.

#

Senek glanced over. Raijiin was doing an acceptable job of maintaining her Vulcan façade, or at least acceptable by Risan standards. It would never pass muster on the homeworld. His young protégé would require years of training and practice before she could be trusted to operate among Vulcans who were in possession of all of their faculties. Fortunately, she was unlikely to ever be called upon to do that in her role as priestess of the first Vulcan temple on Risa. Her clientele would be screened by Senek himself, and would logically consist of desperate Vulcans without other options, useful types from whom to extract valuable information and hardly likely to notice subtle details while in the grip of _plak-tau_.

They walked along the bustling open-air pedestrian pathway which wound through the center of Port Risa's tourist district. The Vulcan Embassy was only a short walk from the spaceport, obviating the need for ground transportation. Trees grew along the grass-covered median, arching over the paved sidewalks where local residents in colorfully skin-baring costumes brushed elbows with more conservatively dressed recent arrivals. Raijiin drew curious glances in her traditional russet Vulcan robes, her face mysteriously veiled. Senek, also robed, wore more conservative grey.

The boy Selim walked between them with a woebegone expression dressed in the cut-down ship's coverall he'd been wearing when they'd discovered him hiding aboard _Lertieran_. He clung to Raijiin's hand as if it were a rope that held him suspended over an abyss. Raijiin was speaking to the boy in a soft voice, obviously attempting to assist him in casting out fear. From appearances, Senek was less than optimistic about her success.

"All will be well, Selim," she told the youngster.

He reached across and grabbed her wrist with his other hand. "I don't believe you. They will send you away, and then I will be locked up until my sister comes. It will be worse than Mistress Natolya's. At least there I was permitted to move about."

Senek inwardly winced. The boy was probably correct. Considering his established behavior patterns, the logical course of action for the staff at the Vulcan embassy would be to place him under close watch in his own quarters. It was unfortunate, but unavoidable. The youngster was too erratic to be trusted.

Raijiin sent Senek a helpless look. Then she leaned close to Selim and whispered, "I will speak to them. I can promise nothing, but I will surely speak to them for you." Something about her tone reassured the boy, or perhaps his unusual empathic abilities assured him of her sincerity, because he took a shaky breath and nodded. He gripped Raijiin's fingers tightly with one hand, released his death grip on her wrist with the other, squared his shoulders, and stared resolutely ahead as they walked. Oddly, the flamboyant costumes—or lack thereof—sported by the passers-by didn't seem to attract his attention. He'd likely seen it all before. Every now and again someone noticed the boy's beauty and smiled.

Despite himself, Senek found himself looking down at Selim, wondering if his own son looked anything like this boy. He would be about the same age. The temple at Gol forbade outside contact with children borne by its priestesses until their majority. He had not, until that moment, seriously considered seeking his son out when that time came, but then, he had not until recently spent any significant amount of time in the presence of a juvenile of his own species. The potential of Selim's as-yet-unformed talents quite fascinated him.

Selim looked up to meet Senek's gaze, blinked at him seriously for several seconds, and then extended his free hand. Senek raised a brow at the boy. Then he took his hand. All things considered, it was the logical thing to do.

#

T'Rel was in deep meditation when Saran returned to their chambers. He changed into his favorite meditation robe and joined her on another cushion with a sigh of relief, immediately sinking into the third level of reflection. His time sense informed him that it was 83 minutes later when he emerged. T'Rel had risen and prepared tea for them, along with bread and fruit. Saran belatedly realized that he had not eaten since early the day before. Being busy with their arrival, then arranging the meeting with T'Riss followed by the upheaval afterwards, had driven thoughts of food from his mind.

He rose and joined her at the small table. Between sips and bites Saran gave his wife a complete briefing on his meeting with the Human boy. Afterwards they sat quietly while he finished eating and T'Rel digested the information.

When the plates were empty and the cups were dry T'Rel began calmly enough with, "This situation is intolerable."

"I concur," Saran told her. "But we seem to have no option except to tolerate it. Unless you believe that our daughter is lying to us."

T'Rel sat very still. "I do not believe that she would deliberately deceive us. But her psychological injuries might have caused hallucinations."

"We can certainly contact the healer-melder aboard the relief ship," Saran said. "He should at least be able to confirm or deny the presence of her former mating bond."

T'Rel shuddered. "Can this be true? With an alien?"

"It can," Saran told her tiredly. "It has happened in the past, although such information has been classified. It has also happened again with T'Riss." His wife looked up in horror. "Yes. When I shared the family greeting with her I detected another presence in her mind. It was very weak, very faint, but indisputably present. I do not think a simple betrothal bond would produce such an echo effect, particularly from a Human. Their telepathic abilities are almost non-existent."

T'Rel winced and shook her head. "My baby. Not again. No one should have to suffer _that_ twice in a lifetime." She covered her eyes. Saran sighed and touched her hand. His latent melding abilities had received only the barest minimum of training since the discovery of the Kirshara, but he was able to project a modicum of strength and reassurance through their bond.

"They seem to cherish each other," he added hopefully.

"No! This cannot continue!" T'Rel pronounced. "She must be freed of this... this... creature! My daughter will not be forced to spend her life as the property of some barbaric savage, prowling the fringes of civilization like an ancient bandit harassing the caravans!"

"It is done, wife," he told her. "There is also the fact that he was fostered by a Vulcan family." T'Rel subsided slightly, but not much.

"Is his foster family aware of his current circumstance?" she demanded. "Are they aware that their fosterling has taken to consorting with Andorians and lurking about the edges of the Orion Syndicate? I think it might be illuminating to learn their clan affiliation and inform them of these facts."

"A worthy suggestion," Saran approved. "At minimum, we should contact his foster family to investigate his history."

T'Rel started to regain her center at the thought of something concrete to do. "Yes. You said that she is bringing him here? Our first order of business, then, will be to obtain the name of the family who took him in. Following which, I must ascertain his ability to adapt to civilized society. One hopes that the boy might be capable of obtaining a place on the homeworld itself. If not, perhaps he could at least maintain a position on one of the colonies without disgracing T'Riss and the clan."

"Eventually, perhaps." Saran conceded. Then he lifted two fingers. "I urge you to consider this. T'Riss informed me during our walk to the ship that her betrothed and his partners have recently been granted most favored trading status by the High Council in recognition of their assistance during the episode involving the Orions. She told me that with this advantage, coupled with recent windfalls, the partnership anticipates that the next few years will be unusually lucrative for them. It is an unfortunate fact of life that for many people wealth is considered sufficient to compensate for a variety of social deficiencies."

T'Rel looked thoughtful. "There is logic in your words, husband. Meanwhile the delay will provide additional time to indoctrinate... did you say his name was Daan'yel?" Saran nodded. "Additional time to indoctrinate Daan'yel in proper behavior and ethics."

"This leaves us with the remaining difficulty of explaining the situation to our guests," Saran said. "I believe it is time for me to resume my proper place as interested observer. Any potential danger seems to have passed, so the authority for this matter once more properly belongs to you, my wife." He inclined his head respectfully.

She graced him with an eyebrow and nodded. "As you wish, my husband. You displayed exemplary forethought in requesting that the youngsters meet with our guests themselves. It will simplify things. Speaking of which," she stood up at the sound of a chime, "if I am not mistaken, that is the comm signal." T'Rel walked over to the office area and keyed the terminal.

"V'Lan. I have been anticipating your call," she said. The privacy field prevented Saran from overhearing the response. "Indeed. My husband and I have met with T'Riss. We received some unexpected information that has changed the situation significantly." T'Rel listened for several seconds. "No. It will not be possible." Another extended pause. "Understood. You are certainly entitled to a complete explanation. We have arranged for you to meet with T'Riss directly so that she may explain herself to you. As soon as we receive notification that she is en route to our quarters we will let you know."

T'Rel raised an eyebrow and started to say something, then caught herself. She waited. And waited some more. Finally she spoke abruptly, "I regret the inconvenience. While I am sensitive to the disturbance that this situation has caused, I urge you to remember that neither Saran nor myself were aware of the changed circumstances until we reached this world. All will be clarified when you arrive. T'Rel out." She hit the button with a trifle more force than was strictly necessary and sat down.

"Am I correct in concluding," Saran asked mildly, "that your interrogation of Daniel will be postponed?"

"I venture to speculate that V'Lan has not made time for sufficient meditation of late," T'Rel replied in a dry tone. "Her reaction was perhaps not as lacking in emotion as one might expect from a lady of her class."

"There is nothing like a child," Saran mused, "to challenge one's emotional stability."

#

Llahir sat on the balcony of his ocean-side hotel suite and sipped a glass of Risan wine, gazing out over the pellucid blue waters and considering the illogical extravagance of his accommodations. He was still conditioned by his years among Romulans to appreciate physical pleasure for its own sake, and his accumulated back pay with compounded interest had amounted to a ludicrously large sum when converted to universal trade credits. Even while he admitted to himself the difficulty that this tendency toward self-indulgence would cause him in re-acclimating to Vulcan society, he'd decided just this once to pamper himself.

He wondered what Raijiin would think of the room. Looking around at the thickly cushioned furniture, all of it covered with sensuously smooth materials, he suspected that she would approve. Certainly the food and drink was up to any reasonable being's standard-another aspect of Vulcan life that he would have difficulty getting used to. Although he supposed there was no reason that he could not prepare his own food in accordance with Romulan custom, at least in his home when no visitors were expected.

There would be little reason to expect visitors, Llahir brooded. His clan had been informed of his demise in the line of duty prior to the Romulan assignment, an unpleasant but necessary ruse to avoid speculation over his long absence. He had no immediate family and no real friends, or did he?

Initially, Senek's obvious attempt to use Raijiin as bait to lure him back into the Intelligence service had provoked a combination of mild amusement and irritation. Employing an attractive female in such a manner was a tactic so routine in clandestine operations as to be a cliché. In the Empire it was the subject of a number of ribald jokes. Only a blind fool could have failed to see what Senek was attempting. Since Llahir was still alive he could reasonably claim to be neither blind nor a fool.

As time passed, however, Llahir had noticed a gradual change in Raijiin's demeanor, and he had begun to suspect that she had her own agenda. Llahir's difficulty lay in the fact that Raijiin was an accomplished courtesan with a lifetime of experience projecting whatever impression the situation might call for. Since his telepathic skills were stunted, he had no way of confirming her sincerity, but her body language had begun changing when she was in his company. It wasn't proof of anything. A professional was quite capable of incorporating body language adjustments into her repertoire. But it was at least indicative.

Why would she be interested in him? Llahir attempted to consider the matter logically. What, besides Senek's instructions, might interest her about him?

His money might be a factor. Money was often a factor, logically enough. She had been a slave for most of her life, powerless and destitute. The possibility of becoming mate to a male who possessed ample financial resources might seem attractive. Llahir evaluated the possibility and found nothing objectionable about it. Given her background and situation it would only be reasonable.

No one had specifically detailed the circumstances of Raijiin's recruitment to him, but the report of the boy Selim combined with the relationship dynamics between Senek and Raijiin led Llahir to believe that it was possible that Raijiin had not entered the Vulcan service entirely of her own accord. Knowing the Vulcan High Command as he did, this did not surprise Llahir in the least. He paused. He really should begin thinking of it as the High Council, even though it remained to be seen whether the change would involve more than nomenclature.

Therefore, it could be possible that Raijiin considered him to be a potential source of aid in escaping her obligations to the Intelligence Directorate, which might actually be the case. An agent with children was subject to different rules than one without. If they became mates and decided to have children, she would at least be excused from dangerous field operations until the children were grown.

What else might he have to offer?

Marriage to a Vulcan would give her a place in the most advanced civilization in the quadrant, arguably perhaps even the most powerful. Vulcan law specifically forbade slavery in any form, at least theoretically. By gaining him for a mate Raijiin would obtain wealth, freedom, and access to the highest level of amenities available in this region of space.

Llahir drained his glass of wine, satisfied that he had reasoned out the logic behind her behavior. Now the question became, did he want her?

He found her company agreeable. Her conversation was stimulating. Her physical attributes were more than acceptable. She was young and healthy, and she had a way with children, even Vulcan ones, apparently. She would not have been recruited if the Security Directorate was not satisfied with her courage, intelligence, and resilience. Her superior telepathic abilities would be useful in compensating for his own lack of ability. The two of them might even be able to form a proper mate bond, something that he had long since resigned himself to living without.

Prior to his years on Romulus the fact that she'd been physically intimate with so many individuals in her lifetime might have made him hesitate. His people were, after all, traditionally monogamous and unusually squeamish about such things. The Romulan attitude about physical intimacy was a good deal less restrictive. Because Llahir had left Vulcan prior to his first ponfarr, the only sexual experiences of his life (there had been only a few due to the considerable risks involved) had all been with Romulan partners. Instead of feeling squeamish, and despite the illogic of preferring potentially damaged goods, or at least very well-broken-in ones, to new, he was intensely curious about the various things Raijiin had learned over the years.

His decision made, Llahir stood up and headed for the comm. It would be best to discuss this subject with Raijiin in private, perhaps over dinner.

#

"Mother," Jara whispered urgently. "You should walk more slowly. Running is undignified." She looked around furtively and then resumed her forward gaze, setting her face into a socially appropriate expression of bland politeness. Stern struggled to control his amusement. Since the call had arrived that announced his liberation he had been fighting manfully to hold back a most illogical urge to shout and dance. V'Lan's walking speed was a matter of utter indifference to him at that moment.

His good humor began to fade when his mother said tightly, "It is neither logical nor acceptable to unilaterally nullify an existing agreement without prior discussion. The negotiations were meticulous and received approval from the elders of both clans. Unless T'Rel can produce something more reasonable than a vague mention of changed circumstances I will insist that they honor the contract." She stalked down the hallway at full attack speed, forcing Stern and Jara to chase after her.

"It is unlikely that they would do this without a compelling reason, Mother," Jara said, panting. Stern's normal affection for his sister intensified significantly at those words. He decided then and there to purchase the new scarf that she had reluctantly dismissed as an unnecessary extravagance.

"What might seem compelling to _them_," V'Lan said, "still needs to be evaluated by _me_." She veered left and stopped in front of the suite of rooms that T'Rel and Saran had been assigned. A swift button jab later, the door swept open and T'Rel was inviting them inside.

Stern scanned the room. Only Saran and T'Rel were present. His once-but-no-longer soon-to-be father-in-law looked perturbed. Not so much upset, Stern considered, as disgruntled. His healer's empathy was picking up traces from both of them of residual anger and frustration mixed with resignation and - in T'Rel's case at least - of disgust. This meeting was likely to prove interesting.

Saran stood up from the couch and said, "Be welcome. We have prepared tea. I invite you to sit."

V'Lan raised her chin and said, with icy politeness, "We accept your hospitality." She marched over to the adjoining couch and placed herself on it with precision. A flick of the fingers told Jara and Stern to take their appointed places beside her.

Once the tea was poured and everyone had taken the obligatory sip, T'Rel got down to business. "I deeply regret this. It was not until we met with T'Riss this morning that she informed us that she was already betrothed."

V'Lan blinked and set her cup down with an audible clack. "Already betrothed? And you have approved of the boy, I take it? In preference to my son?"

"No," T'Rel told her with an upraised hand. "Absolutely not." She was even more upset than Stern had realized at first, turning the cup in her hands aimlessly. "We are placed in a position... it is not possible for... we cannot... we have no choice but to accept the boy." She took another sip and held the cup in front of her face as if it were a shield.

"I see," V'Lan's voice would have frozen an Andorian. "This is quite remarkable. I do not believe that I have ever encountered or even heard of a situation remotely similar to it before."

"Nor have we," Saran said tiredly. He looked at T'Rel, who gestured for him to continue. "Since you have been put to the trouble of traveling such a distance, you deserve a complete explanation. T'Riss and the boy have already bonded."

Stern sat perfectly still, but internally he was screaming like a le'matya and doing handstands. _"After this, I don't care if mother approves or not. I will marry T'Kara if I must take her off-world and become a plomeek farmer."_

The door comm buzzed. All eyes turned to follow Saran as he went to admit the subjects of the conversation. The first to enter was a small, admittedly attractive young woman. Immediately behind her was…

"Daniel?" Stern leaped to his feet. "What are you doing here?"

"Stern?" Daniel stopped just inside the doorway with a stunned expression on his face. "V'Lan? Sis? What's going on here?"

"Daniel?" V'Lan weaved where she stood. Stern had never seen her so nonplussed. "What? NO!" She turned to T'Rel. "You can't mean that Daniel is the boy."

"You _know_ him?" T'Rel said, looking intensely confused.

Jara marched over and looked up at Daniel with her hands on her hips. She started with her no nonsense voice. "Daniel, you have always possessed a rare talent for introducing chaos into the most mundane situations, but this is incredible even by your standards. What could you possibly have been thinking? Is this one of those infamous conspiracies between you and Stern?"

"Hey," Daniel raised both hands. "Don't start on me, Sis. T'Riss and I were together long before she got that message from her mom. You can't push this one off on me."

Stern cleared his throat. "Mother," he said in the most reasonable voice he could manage. "I regret to say that I find the candidate that you have chosen for me to be unsuitable."

V'Lan shot him a lethal glare. "Stern. Did you contact Daniel and arrange this? Answer me."

"Mother, I assure you I had no more knowledge of this than you did," he swore. V'Lan slumped and looked lost. T'Rel and Saran were trading glances and seemed equally bewildered.

T'Riss said numbly, "Sis? Daniel, did you refer to her as 'Sis'? Using it as an abbreviated form of sister?"

"Uh, yeah." Daniel turned. "T'Riss, this is Jara, my foster sister." He pointed across the room. "That's V'Lan. She tried hard to civilize me. It's not her fault if it didn't stick. And next to her is Stern. He's my foster brother and partner in... um... activities."

"We will not discuss those activities at this time," Jara sighed. She offered the ta'al. "Peace and long life, T'Riss. I had anticipated greeting you as a sister, I just didn't anticipate the correct brother." She glared at Daniel again.

"Don't look at me like that, or I'll put sugar in your plomeek again," Daniel told her. "None of this is my fault or T'Riss' fault. If anyone had bothered to talk to us first this could all have been avoided."

Stern walked over to clasp Daniel's hand. "In any case, it is good to see you again, Daniel."

"Same here, Stern," Daniel grinned. "I'm glad I didn't have to fight you."

"You were prepared for the challenge?" Jara gasped.

T'Riss flushed, but Daniel nodded matter-of-factly. "Yep. Nobody takes my woman without a fight."

Stern turned back to the parents and said cheerfully, "I am glad as well. Daniel has been studying martial arts, both Human and Vulcan, since he was a child."

"I wouldn't have killed _you_, Stern," Daniel protested. "You know better than that."

"This situation is irrational, illogical, and unsupportable," V'Lan muttered, sitting back down heavily. Stern crossed the room in concern, with Daniel at his heels. Stern sat on the couch beside his mother. From experience, he knew that she would not appreciate further assistance unless she asked for it, but he was prepared to offer it. Daniel, as usual, was more direct.

"You all right, V'Lan?" Daniel asked, kneeling in front of her. "Need some water or something?" She waved him off impatiently.

"Perhaps this situation is not entirely disadvantageous," T'Riss offered hesitantly. "Would it be possible to simply revise the original agreement?"

"Hardly," T'Rel told her, sounding offended. "A foster child does not hold clan membership. Even an adopted child would not hold full membership, and the law does not recognize adoption for non-Vulcans."

"The letter of the law is irrelevant," V'Lan stood back up. "Daniel is a member of my family. If others refuse to acknowledge this fact," she glared at T'Rel and Saran, "so be it."

Saran merely nodded thoughtfully. T'Rel however, snapped back, "Indeed? Do you then support members of your own family consorting with Andorians in the Orion Syndicate?" V'Lan froze with her mouth open, and T'Rel subsided, visibly satisfied. Stern winced.

Daniel's face darkened. He said stiffly, "Lady T'Rel. With all due respect, honor compels me to defend my partners' reputations. Both Jenrali and Sehlra are solid, honest people, as good or better than anyone of any race, anywhere. I cannot, and will not, stand by and hear them maligned."

"Daniel." T'Riss clutched at his arm and started whispering into his ear at high speed. From the occasional bits that Stern could catch, she seemed to be using English. He regretted once again his lack of innate talent with languages.

_"Daniel Johansen."_

Stern, Jara, and Daniel instinctively stiffened. Stern's mother was giving Daniel the kind of look that had been known to reduce their father Kotol to flinching. None of the children had ever been able to stand up to it. Not even Daniel, who had come to the family as a nominal adult, had ever withstood that particular gleam in her eyes. Nor was he withstanding it now, Stern realized, as beads of perspiration started rolling down his face.

"Yes," he swallowed hard, "ma'am?"

"Why was I not informed that your partners are Andorian?"

She waited. Daniel looked at Stern helplessly. Stern gritted his teeth, but there was no escaping it.

"Daniel notified me of the details in his next to last communication, Mother," Stern said diffidently. "But I could see no logical reason to burden you with it. The partnership agreement had already been entered into. I concluded that knowing his partners were Andorian would serve only to upset you." He looked innocently at her.

She wasn't buying it, as Daniel would have said. V'Lan looked from one son to the other, radiating wrath. From between her teeth she informed them both, "We will discuss this matter later. In private. At length."

T'Rel looked irritatingly satisfied. Saran looked off into the distance. T'Riss and Jara looked at each other and shared a mutual sigh.

Daniel stood up and stepped back a pace. Then he said quietly between his teeth. "Not really much to discuss at this point. The contract is signed, and the money is paid. I own a share of _Lerteiran_, and I made a commitment."

"Noted," V'Lan said grimly. "For the present, let us return to the question of how you came to find yourself betrothed to Stern's promised."

A glint came into Daniel's eye. "More accurately, how did Stern come to find himself promised to my betrothed?" He glanced at T'Riss and smiled. "Once again, if anyone had bothered to contact us this could all have been avoided."

"Granted," Saran admitted blandly, to his wife's plain irritation. "A point I recommend that you keep in mind when arranging your own children's marriages."

"Did I hear correctly when you spoke earlier?" Jara asked hesitantly. "I believe Saran said that Daniel and T'Riss had already bonded? Or... of course, you must have been referring to the betrothal bond."

"No." Heads snapped around all over the room. "I was not. I believe that a full mating bond has formed," Saran said tiredly.

Stern saw Daniel and T'Riss exchange a guilty look. "Would you both consent to a brief touch?" he asked.

"Um, how brief?" Daniel flinched. T'Riss gripped his arm with one hand and stroked his back with the other, to the obvious disapproval of both mothers. She turned to the room and explained.

"Daniel was recently subjected to telepathic attack. He has healed, or as much as it is possible for a human brain to heal from such an attack, but his central nervous system will retain scars for the rest of his life. He is understandably unenthusiastic about the prospect of further telepathy," T'Riss told them.

"What!" V'Lan came to her feet like a le'matya uncoiling. "Who has done this to him?" Not even Stern's mother could completely conceal the anger that boiled beneath her discipline.

"It's ok," Daniel raised a quick hand. "The one who did it was punished. I'm all right now. T'Riss just worries." He looked at Stern. "Sure, go ahead. Just be patient with me. I'm a little jumpy."

"I will not attempt to probe," Stern promised. "Merely monitor." He carefully placed his fingertips on the contact points and cleared his mind. No real effort was necessary, and he released contact instantly. "Yes." The rest of the room stirred. He asked T'Riss, "May I?" She stepped forward a pace and Stern repeated the act. Again, a brief touch was sufficient.

Stern dropped his hand and turned to Saran. "You were correct. They are fully bonded. From the strength of the connection I speculate that they have been bonded for some time." In the corner of his eye he saw Daniel turn to T'Riss with a puzzled expression. She seemed equally perplexed.

"For some time?" echoed T'Riss. "But we just…" Daniel shook his head at her and cut his eyes toward V'Lan's disapproving face.

V'Lan pressed her fingertips against her eyelids. "There is a great deal that needs to be discussed. That much is painfully obvious."

"I have a suggestion," Jara offered. "Perhaps T'Riss and I could walk together among the shops while she explains how she and Daniel came together. Meanwhile, Mother, you could take the opportunity to discuss matters with Stern and Daniel."

"Gee, thanks sis," Daniel said sarcastically. "You just wait and see what I get for your next birthday present. Wear gloves when you open it, that's all I can say."

"An excellent suggestion, daughter," V'Lan said imperiously. "Come, my sons. We will return to our quarters and you can both offer your explanations."

T'Rel offered helpfully, "There is a meeting room just down the passage that we rented. You are welcome to use it." She handed V'Lan a data cartridge. "This contains the entrance code." T'Riss offered them a look of sympathy.

"Most helpful." V'Lan inclined her head and turned for the doorway. Daniel paused beside T'Riss to exchange a finger touch before following Stern and V'Lan out the door.

#

Damin accepted the cup of hot chocolate with a smile and polite thanks. The Risan waitress smiled back brightly and walked away with a pronounced sway to her hips. Damin bit his lips to hold back a grin. It really was nice to be appreciated, even if she was only after his body. But he would never risk giving up what he had found with Sehlra for a fling with a bubble-head like that one. Her thoughts—or what passed for them—buzzed in his head like white noise, nearly deafening in their incoherency.

The beachside cafe was built on a stone pier that jutted out from the rear of a castle that was in semi-ruins. The eastern wing had been renovated and upgraded to modern standards of comfort, leaving the rest of the old pile in-situ as a picturesque memorial to Risan history. Personally, Damin found it an unsightly eyesore. But, to each his own, he supposed.

His father's House had no doubt already spotted him. Probably someone had seen him as soon as he arrived, but it was up to them to decide when and how to make contact. Someone might just walk up to the table. Or he might receive a note with his next order. Or someone might be waiting in his room. Or he might not be contacted for weeks. It was up to the Darkblades. All he could do was wait. Most especially, a fledgling Darkblade who desired to be restored to his House did not dare to display impatience. Darkblades were hunters, and a hunter waited as long as was necessary.

Something tickled the back of his awareness. Damin half closed his eyes and opened his telepathic senses to their most sensitive state. Perhaps this was the contact?

The touch against his mind was clumsy. Whoever was thinking of him was both untrained and not very talented to begin with. Another fledgling perhaps? But... there was an emotional aspect...

Sehlra. He smiled faintly. She was daydreaming about him again. Warmth kindled in his belly and spread through his entire body. Sehlra had nearly throttled him when he insisted on coming here alone. Then Jenrali had backed him up, and she'd come close to pounding them both. His smile stretched into a grin despite his best efforts.

"_Sehlra," Jenrali had __said in exasperation, "the boy's people know he's part Romulan and a target. Anything that looks suspicious will drive them off. He needs to get in touch with them by himself, at least the first time." _

_Damin had stood by quietly, grateful for the help and not wanting to provoke her wrath again. _

_Sehlra steamed. "What if they get suspicious enough to remove a potential threat?" _

"_The boy's part of their family," Jenrali had snapped. "You know perfectly well how Betazoids are about family. They're not going to hurt one of their own blood kin. You, on the other hand, might be an annoyance they decide to sweep out of the way." _

Damin ran a hand through his hair. Jenrali had been around. It showed in more than just his piloting. Luckily he was one of the few people that Sehlra listened to. Occasionally.

"You have been leading a complicated life, cousin."

Damin froze. The soft male voice came from directly behind him. Even distracted by the fleeting contact from Sehlra he should not have been so insensitive to his surroundings. Without moving a muscle Damin sent a delicate probe out. It was neatly deflected, leaving behind a residual sense of amusement. Damin didn't recognize the mind behind the amusement, but then he hadn't had mental contact with any of his Betazoid kin for nearly twenty years. It was entirely possible that the man behind him had been just a toddler when Damin was taken back by the Tal Shiar.

So. The next few seconds would determine if he lived or died. Despite what Jenrali had told Sehlra, Darkblades were quite capable of killing family if the situation warranted it, especially distant cousins to whom they had no emotional attachment.

"Not by choice, kinsman," Damin whispered in response, barely moving his lips against his cup. "I have come hoping to simplify my days."

"Really," the voice, though equally soft, was heavy with irony. "With an Andorian lover and a Human warship on your trail?"

Damin stiffened. "I knew not that the Humans pursued. They should not ..." He paused in realization. "They must have broken my mother."

"Or perhaps they wish to hire you to probe her," his unseen kinsman suggested. "Either way, you are a brightly pulsating beacon even without taking your woman into account."

"She is an Imperial Guard combat veteran," Damin defended Sehlra. "She and her partners have survived on the edge of the Syndicate for years by their wits and their weapons."

"I do not question her courage or her intelligence," the Darkblade said. "But blue and pink do not blend well for camouflage."

Damin closed his eyes. "She has chosen me."

Silence reigned. On Betazed, for an established older woman to choose a man as her own was high honor. To expect a Betazoid male, even a Darkblade, to walk away from such a gift would be unreasonable at best - even ludicrous.

Finally a faint sigh broke the silence. "Family is family. If she is willing to make the sacrifice… to swear the oaths… to offer the surety... she will be accepted as one of us. Otherwise, you must go your own way, cousin. There can be no middle path. Report precisely at midday tomorrow to this address with your answer and, if she is willing, with your woman. Come dressed as a pleasure slave and his mistress. You will be tested."

The waitress appeared at Damin's elbow, then, and with a simper handed him his check in a fine leather billfold. An address was handwritten on a slip of paper tucked beneath the check. Damin paid the bill, pocketed the paper, and then rose from the table. The room was empty save for himself and the wait staff. The only sign of his mysterious visitor was an empty cup on the table directly behind him.

#

The Risan sunset blurred in Raijiin's sight; its beauty inspiring tears in her current fragile state. From the hotel balcony she heard the sound of the surf on the water's edge punctuated by the occasional cry of a seabird flying over the shoreline. Below her, a narrow stretch of pebbled beach was deserted save for a couple walking hand-in-hand, and the day's warmth had given way to a salt-kissed breeze. It was almost enough to take her mind off of the events of the day. She sipped her wine and valiantly tried not to see Selim's miserable little face in her mind's eye. His expression as the rigid looking embassy attaché had escorted him away threatened to ruin her appetite—in spite of the delicious odors wafting through the partially open sliding doors.

Llahir stepped out to the balcony with a covered plate in each hand. "This little kitchen is not as well-equipped as I'd like, but it's serviceable," he told her as he set the plates down. He poured himself a glass of wine, and then topped hers off before sitting down and removing the plate covers. Expecting Vulcan vegetarian blandness, she blinked in surprise.

"This is…?" she began.

"Risan prawns in a shallot, butter, and white wine sauce over linguine," supplied Llahir succinctly. "Accompanied by a local vegetable whose name I don't recall. I was told it tastes vaguely like Vulcan _bertakk, _only spicier, so I decided to steam it with a local sour citrus juice, and then add a cream sauce. It's remarkable what one can obtain at the local market when said market is a major interstellar tourist destination. "

Raijiin stared at the plate for at least a second before deciding that her appetite was, in fact, perfectly intact. The meal proceeded in silence, more because she usually found it uncouth to speak with her mouth full than because of any desire on her part to honor Vulcan custom. Conversation resumed once her plate was bare of all edible substance.

"That was remarkable. Where did you get the recipe?" she managed finally, after dabbing the corners of her mouth and swiping her chin to remove residual traces of butter. Llahir took a sip of wine. His plate still contained a few bites of noodles. She debated asking him if he planned to finish his meal, but decided against it. He was already giving her that amused look of his.

"Pasta is a popular Human import, and the flavors of the sea blend well with this pale Risan wine." Llahir lifted his glass and shrugged. "When I found the pasta first and then saw the prawns being brought in directly from the boat, still living, I knew what to do. Why must there always be a recipe?" His scarred face was earnest. She smiled, and then bit her lip to suppress it. She didn't want to scare him off.

"I don't mind, you know," he told her with equal earnestness.

":Mind?" _What? Had she done something he might mind?_

"When you smile," he clarified. "I'm not Senek, and you're not on duty when you're with me."

_I wish I could convince Senek of that, _thought Raijiin, and put a pleasant almost-smile on her face. "I'll try to remember that," she told him.

"You would have no need to continually remind yourself…. if we were to make the nature of our relationship clearer to the Security Directorate," said Llahir. Raijiin studied him.

"What exactly _is _the nature of our relationship…from your point of view?" she ventured. The flutter in the pit of her stomach was likely the result of eating too quickly. Llahir sipped his wine, his craggy face mysterious in the growing darkness.

"Senek still behaves as if I were an asset. I am not. I am a retired agent. And you are not my handler. Nor should you be bait, dangled before me to entice me to return to active duty. Such a role is beneath you." His tone was firm, on the verge of threatening coming from the shadows.

Raijiin swallowed, blood pounding in her ears. "I see," she whispered. "And if I am not these things, then what should I be, exactly?"

Llahir set his glass down and, with his dark eyes focused on hers, reached across the table to brush the backs of two outstretched fingers against her hand. Raijiin gasped as a pulse of heat raced up her arm. Warmth blossomed within her belly and traveled lower, to center itself finally between her legs.

"My wife, if you will have me." His statement drove the breath from her lungs. She sat there staring at him, unable to speak. He raised a brow at her. "If that is not acceptable to you, I am open to any… alternative arrangements you might suggest," he said.

"W…w…wife?" she sputtered. "Why?"

Llahir shrugged. "In my opinion, we are a good match. If you do not agree, then I will abide by your decision…but I don't believe that either of us is likely to come across a more suitable potential mate in our lifetimes."

"But…my role here…I'm to be a…"

"A priestess. Yes. I know," he said quietly, beginning a slow stroking motion of just the bare tips of two fingers along her forearm. The contact was barely palpable, its insubstantiality activating her sensory nerves to hyper-acuity. She'd used the technique herself on hundreds of occasions. That awareness didn't prevent a shiver from running up and down her spine. Although he seemed to be focusing his entire attention on what he was doing, Llahir continued their conversation.

"We're on Risa. Surely Senek will have no difficulty finding a willing female to take your place after you've obtained the information he needs. The informants will certainly never know the difference by that point, wouldn't you think? I shall, of course, _insist _on such substitutions in _every _case should you agree to become my wife."

"Of course," she echoed. Before she realized what he was doing Llahir had risen from the table and pulled her to her feet by both elbows. The more substantial skin contact allowed her finally to gain full contact with his mind. There was only one thing on it.

"And _if _you agree, you willbe _my_ woman," he growled. "No one else's… ever again. I will indulge you in many things, but in that I am adamant. You _will regret_ it if you behave otherwise. Is that understood?"

Raijiin caught her breath, and then smiled a lazy feline smile. "Absolutely, my betrothed. I understand completely," she purred. Llahir's answering smile looked more like a carnivore baring its fangs. She pulled her elbows from his grip and started to lead the way toward the suite's master bedroom, but he had other ideas. Fortunately, the sitting room sofa was plush and well-padded.

#

Jara and T'Riss headed out together toward the shopping district. Stern and Daniel followed V'Lan into the hallway with hangdog expressions on their faces. She marched down the carpeted passageway like a queen being escorted by a pair of chastened servants, inserted the data cartridge, and the meeting room entrance dilated. V'Lan led her sons across the room, ignoring the fountain, interior stream, and other accouterments as if they were invisible, then seated herself, pinned them with her no-nonsense look and announced, "I am ready. Proceed."

Stern looked at Daniel. Daniel rolled his eyes and accepted the challenge. "Well, first off I don't see what the problem is," he said. "I know Vulcan and Andoria have been at each other's throats for a long time, but things are peaceful now. There's no logic in holding a grudge, is there?" His expression was hopeful.

V'Lan turned to look at Stern, who closed his eyes in defense. "Daniel informed me that the partnership agreement was already an accomplished fact," he reiterated. "In the interest of preserving family harmony, I saw no advantage in bringing up potentially disturbing information. My motivation was entirely in the interest of preserving peace."

"You evaluated the situation then," V'lan said in a dangerously quiet tone, "and determined that your mother's discipline was inadequate to cope with this information?"

Stern spent 2.8 seconds contemplating the feasibility of making a break for the exit. He regretfully decided that the aftermath would be even less pleasant than remaining to deal with the current situation.

"By no means, Mother. I merely considered your often stated opinion of Andorian culture as well as your past experience with the fleet during prior conflicts with Andoria. Based on this information, I calculated a greater than 72% probability of a negative reaction on your part to learning that Daniel had chosen to enter into a partnership agreement with Andorians. Since the agreement was already irrevocable I decided not to trouble you."

"Your logic was deeply flawed, my son," V'Lan snapped. "This matter is far more significant than you perceive. The actions of one member of this family reflect on all." She turned to Daniel. "Did you bother to contemplate the probable consequences to your foster clan when you entered into this agreement?"

Daniel flinched. "I... no. I knew you probably wouldn't be overjoyed, but I didn't expect any significant consequences."

V'Lan closed her eyes and pressed her lips together. Stern sat fearfully stiff. The last time he had seen that expression on his mother's face was upon the occasion of his having been sent home from school at the age of nine years, four months, for the offense of having upended a cup of tea over another student's head. During that episode, she had actually snorted. The aftermath was not a pleasant memory.

"T'Rel informs me," V'Lan pinned Daniel with a glare, "that your ship routinely trades with the Orion Syndicate. Is this true?" He twisted on the seat and looked hopefully at Stern, who had no help to offer.

Daniel sighed. "We don't do it routinely. We trade along the fringes of the major routes because we lack the capacity and speed to compete with the bigger ships. Or rather, we used to."

"Your answer is evasive, Daniel. Do you, or do you not, trade with the Syndicate?" V'Lan was implacable.

"We... ur... sometimes?" Daniel was sweating again. "But only when there is nothing else available… and we never break any laws. Even the Syndicate needs supplies."

"You do business with criminals, but you maintain that you do not break the law," V'Lan said flatly. "Leaving aside the question of accessory after the fact, how do you suppose an outside observer will interpret your activities?"

Daniel grimaced. "I didn't think of that." He rubbed his face. "I'm sorry. It never entered my mind. But I doubt anyone-."

"Do the Vulcan crew members aboard the rescue ships belong to clans on Vulcan?" V'Lan interrupted him. "Do they communicate with their kin? Is there any chance that they will fail to report the unique oddity of a Human serving aboard an Andorian vessel trading in Orion space, and the name of that Human? Is there any possibility that they will fail to report that your mate was assigned to the same vessel?"

Stern watched Daniel's jaw muscles bunch. "I grieve to have caused distress, V'Lan."

She looked at him coldly. "Distress? Can you truly believe that this information, once it finally reaches Vulcan, will not have an effect on Kotal? His position may well be compromised because of this. Stern and Jara may find their career options limited due to their foster brother's criminal associations."

Daniel's eyes widened. Stern paused to contemplate the situation. He had not previously considered the matter himself, but his mother was correct. The social and ethical standards for members of Vulcan society at their level were quite unforgiving.

"I never thought of any of this, I swear," Daniel sounded miserable. "Human families don't operate this way. On Earth once a person reaches full adulthood they're responsible for their own choices. It never entered my head that this might hurt any of you."

Stern's mother softened her visage at Daniel's obvious distress. "I am willing to grant your youthful naiveté. I am also willing to allow for the possibility that your partners have influenced you into inappropriate behavior. However, it is imperative that your association with criminals cease at once."

Daniel's face became engorged with blood. Stern heard him struggling to control his breathing. Finally he managed, "V'Lan. I have answers. Will you hear me?"

"I will," she told him. "Speak."

"First," Daniel said, with strong emotion in his voice, "I want you to know that my partners, Jenrali and Sehlra, are two of the most honorable and honest people that I have ever known. They have both saved my life more times than I can count. We have stood together through good times and bad. We have worked together, fought together, suffered together, and triumphed together. Other than my own birth kin and your family, there is no one in my life that I feel so close to except T'Riss. To quote an old Human saying, I trust them with my life, my fortune, and my sacred honor."

V'Lan looked at him. "And yet they are on cordial terms with Orion pirates and slavers."

Daniel tightened his jaw. "Some of us, Lady V'Lan, are not fortunate enough to be born wealthy or highly placed in our societies. We have to make do as best we can with what we have. Granted, Sehlra's daughters own several factories on her home world. She could have abandoned Jenrali and me when things got tight if she had chosen to do so. But she decided to stick it out and fight through the tough times with us. We did the best we could with what we had. In any case, it is no longer an issue, my lady," he finished stiffly.

Stern was feeling concern. Such formality of address was most atypical for Daniel. It was invariably a symptom of deep emotional pain. Evidently his mother recognized it as well, for she moderated her tone and approach.

"Perhaps there are factors worthy of consideration that I am not aware of," V'Lan allowed. "Why do you say that it is no longer an issue?"

"Because." Daniel took a deep breath. "Because, Lady V'Lan, we have been granted most favored trading status by the Vulcan High Council in recognition of our service - both in rescuing the hostages and in killing the ringleader of the kidnappers. We have also received substantial rewards in latinum for killing him, as well as capturing and returning a wanted criminal to Starfleet. We intend to use these advantages to good effect among the inner planets."

"Oh!" Stern had seldom seen his mother flabbergasted, but this was one of the times. "I see. That certainly changes the situation. So you have no plans to continue trading with the Syndicate?"

"We were never out there by choice," Daniel told her. "We were out there because we were too poor to do any better. Now, we can do better. Besides, Starfleet and the Vulcan Fleet both gave us some serious upgrades. We can match or beat any ship in our class now for speed and capacity. We also have warship class sensors and weapons, so we can defend our cargo if need be."

V'Lan looked at him. So did Stern, and was deeply unsettled by the look in his foster brother's eyes. The dangerous wariness of a predator shone out, but it obviously overlay a deep well of pain. "Daniel," Stern said quietly. "Perhaps we can make time to talk later? I would welcome the opportunity to hear more of your time since leaving home."

"Sure, Stern." Daniel forced a smile. "I like to hear what you've been doing, too. I gather you're almost done with your training? Congratulations. Sorry about diverting your plans this way. Got any other girls in mind to replace T'Riss?"

V'Lan shot him a look of warning, but Stern threw caution to the midden and replied, "Yes. Her name is T'Kara. Actually, she was my first choice, but Mother disapproved. I have hope of persuading her to reconsider now."

"This is an inappropriate time to discuss this, my son," V'Lan scolded him.

"I do not see why, Mother," Stern said. "Is Daniel not my brother? Can I not discuss my preferred choice of mate with my own brother?"

"The matter has already been settled, Stern." V'Lan was plainly fed up. "After everything else that has happened today, I do not need you harassing me about this stonecutter again."

"Stonecutter?" Daniel asked. "That's interesting. What kind of work does she do? Architecture? Or statues? Or what?"

"Primarily architectural, both structural and aesthetic supplements," Stern said proudly. "She recently completed a major upgrade to one of the buildings at the university."

"Sweet," Daniel looked impressed. "That's the kind of thing that people will be looking at and remembering long after the rest of us are gone and forgotten."

"Yes, the art of stonecutting is a cherished heritage that has its roots in the dawn of Vulcan civilization," V'lan acknowledged. "However, this changes nothing. The girl is entirely inappropriate for you."

"Why?" Daniel wanted to know. "What's wrong with her? Is her health bad? Or does she associate with criminals too?" he added with a tinge of bitterness.

"To the best of my knowledge, there is nothing wrong with the girl herself," V'Lan told him. "I am sure that she will find a fine young man of her own class. But your brother was born into one of the ruling clans, Daniel. You know this. As Mother of our House I must consider the effect upon every member of the House. I do not have the luxury of permitting emotional preferences to influence my choice. He cannot marry a woman who works with her hands. It would be disgraceful, and it would cause significant damage to his career."

Daniel froze and Stern reeled back in his seat despite his best efforts at control. The wave of shock and pain emanating from his foster brother was eviscerating. Even V'Lan seemed to feel it, for she actually leaned forward looking concerned.

"Daniel, what is wrong? Are you ill?" She blinked when Daniel stood up and wiped his eyes.

"Lady V'Lan," Daniel said stiffly, "I grieve that I have been a source of shame to your House. It was never my intent. Given what you have just told me, your charity in permitting me to dwell with you is all the more praiseworthy. Since I was working with my hands at the shipyards I can only speculate at the damage your reputation must have suffered. Then, after everything else I have inflicted even more damage by my choice of business associates. I am sorry beyond description for the harm I have done, and I thank you for everything you have done for me." He turned and headed for the door.

"Daniel Johansen! Return to your seat at once!" demanded V'Lan. Daniel did not respond. He continued to the door, keyed the pad, and stepped through the opening without looking back. Stern shook off his paralysis and ran after his brother.

#

Senek pulled the shutters open, letting sun into the high-ceilinged room for the first time in what looked like months. Dusty slipcovers were draped over misshapen objects that Senek could only hope were the items of furniture he'd been told came with the apartment. He began pulling off the covers, bundling them beneath one arm in a compact roll as he did so. Fortunately, the tunic and pants he'd chosen to wear that morning were grey. The sight that greeted him forced him to increase his estimate of the initial start-up expenses for the "First Risan Golic Temple, Reformed" by a factor of three.

He had insufficient knowledge of Risan design paradigms to label the furniture's style, other than to note the fact that it looked as if it all belonged in a brothel. Of course, since that was precisely the use to which the building had been put prior to its purchase by an agent of the Vulcan Security Directorate at a bankruptcy sale, the style was hardly surprising. Heavily padded and covered in red plush velvet and gold brocade, the furniture would most emphatically need to go, as would the sparkly dangling cut glass light fixtures and the wall hangings featuring scantily clad Risan courtesans of both genders in imaginative poses.

Perhaps he'd allow Raijiin to furnish her private chambers with some of it to cut refurnishing costs. Raijiin would probably like the decor when she had the opportunity to see it. Unfortunately, she hadn't responded to his calls since she'd reported in about Llahir's dinner invitation. He would have been concerned had he not been able to sense her mental presence through the handler's link he maintained with her. She'd become adept at screening her thoughts and emotions from him, but at least he could be certain that she was still on the planet and not under threat, otherwise she would have called for help. In the meantime, it was time to go furniture shopping—and to hire some movers and a housekeeper, or perhaps a team of them.

As he began his mental list, Senek's pocket comm tone sounded. He pulled it out to check the identity of the caller, but both the caller's identity and the video image were encrypted. His computer with its decryption software was at that moment in the bottom of a packing crate stacked in the entrance hall, but no one but a representative of the Security Directorate would be sending him an encrypted call.

"Senek here," he responded curtly.

"_St__and by for mission parameters." _The voice was metallic sounding, unidentifiable as to gender. The wince-inducing high frequency beep of a condensed encrypted transmission followed. Then the call ended abruptly. Senek sighed and re-ordered his priorities. Time to unpack first.

He was on his knees in the marble-floored entrance hall shoulder deep in a packing crate when he sensed Raijiin's presence on the other side of the front door. Her shields were up, but he could feel her smug self-satisfaction. He walked to the ornately carved wooden door to let her in. She nodded a greeting and stepped across the threshold, her gaze wandering curiously about the richly appointed entrance hall. Llahir followed her, his hand resting possessively on the small of her back while he scanned the room ahead of her for threats. The retired agent met Senek's eyes without saying a word. As usual, Senek could sense nothing from him, but his protective posture spoke volumes. Llahir was _with_ Raijiin. For a moment Senek was pleased by his protégé's progress until he noticed the deferential way that Raijiin looked at Llahir and _felt _what she was feeling in the man's presence. Her deference wasn't an act.

Correction. Raijiin was _with_ Llahir. The change in dynamic between them was obvious and disturbing.

"We've certainly got work ahead of us trying to convert this place into a Vulcan style temple," commented Raijiin. Llahir lifted the closest trunk marked as Raijiin's, balanced the massive thing on one shoulder, and gave Senek an expectant look. Senek gestured down the hallway.

"Raijiin's chambers are the farthest from the entrance, the third door down to the left," he said. Llahir inclined his head and proceeded down the hallway. Senek pulled Raijiin back from following him. Once the retired agent had turned the corner Senek confronted her in a whisper.

"What have you done?" he demanded. She raised a brow at him, obviously amused by his discomfiture.

"What does it look like I've done?" she replied in a cool tone. "I've increased my bargaining power with the Security Directorate. Llahir and I are a package now. If they want his expertise they've got to keep him well-satisfied… and to do _that _they've got to go through me." Her lips twitched in the trace of a smile. "That's what a wife does, Senek…she keeps her husband satisfied."

"_Wife?_" Senek choked.

"Well, not quite yet," Raijiin demurred. "But Llahir says he can arrange for us to be legally married within the week."

Senek studied her. She radiated sincerity, and obviously had no idea of the type of man she was dealing with. Or perhaps she did and didn't care. It dawned on Senek that this situation was generating an unwonted amount of emotional response from him. His association with the little blonde telepath had initially unsettled him primarily because of his unwanted physical response to her. Once he'd gotten beyond that, he'd thought the matter of emotional attachment was settled. Apparently not, since now he felt like a worried father with a daughter who was about to do something very dangerous and tremendously stupid.

"This is an individual who lived…and _blended indistinguishably_…with Romulans for nearly _thirty _years," he told her softly. "You have _no idea _what he is capable of doing. Seducing him is one thing. Legally attaching yourself to him for life is a dramatically different matter." Raijiin actually grinned in delight at that.

"I know," she replied in an eager tone. "Isn't it exciting?"

#

"No! Absolutely NOT! I won't allow them to force you into slavery again!"

Sehlra, as usual, was adamant about something. This time, her indignant response was a reaction to Damin's news, and not unexpected. He'd avoided the subject until the last possible moment and then taken her to their quarters to change clothes, mostly to avoid alarming Jenrali, but at Sehlra's current volume she'd soon be alarming everyone within a half-kilometer radius.

"Now, Sehlra. It won't be as bad as that," he soothed as he straightened the shoulder seams of her uniform jacket. "Slavery is illegal on Risa. Dressing like a slave for a few hours for their little 'test' won't bother me. We'll do some acting, perform whatever task they ask of us, and then they'll accept us both as family." To Damin's surprise, Sehlra had had no reservations about offering her allegiance to the Darkblades. It was only when he'd mentioned how they were supposed to dress for the rendezvous that she'd balked.

"I'm no actor, Damin. I'll ruin it, and then they'll kill us both," she protested. Damin smiled and shook his head. Then he knelt before her, his semi-transparent silk trousers flowing over his tiny gold briefs with the movement.

"We have two hours before we're expected," he murmured, his eyes downcast. "How may I serve you, Mistress?"

#

Namala disembarked from the groundcar and tugged her uniform jacket down so that the house crest on her left breast pocket showed to advantage. Dealers always brought out their best merchandise for representatives of the old Risan houses. She'd never purchased services in the pleasure quarter before, but she assumed the principle was the same.

"Should I go in with you or wait by the car?" asked Callen. He stood by the car with his shoulders squared, looking impeccably well-turned out and handsome in his chauffeur's uniform and cap. The fact that he was her son didn't affect her assessment of his appearance in the least. It did, however, affect her decision about whether he would accompany her. She had no idea what she'd be facing when she entered, and although Callen was a very competent driver, he was also her youngest child, only 19 years of age and still impressionable, or so she chose to believe.

"Stay here. I'll be back shortly," she told him.

"Yes, ma'am," he replied, and took parade rest at the rear passenger door, ready to assist her upon her return. He took his position as her subordinate very seriously. He'd never been so respectful toward her when she'd been just his mother. She honored his efforts and refrained from smiling affectionately until her back was turned.

The building before her had originally been a warehouse, but it was obviously something else now. Well-dressed people walked in and out of the place, some with scantily dressed companions. She tried not to stare when an older Andorian woman wearing some sort of combat uniform walked in ahead of her leading a beautiful young man on a leash attached to a collar around his neck. His skin was so pale it looked translucent, and he appeared to be entirely hairless save for a head full of shoulder length coal-black curls. The transparency of his costume allowed her to make that assessment with some degree of certainty.

Upon crossing the threshold, Namala was faced with a choice of several stages upon which prospective—she supposed in her situation "employees" was the proper term—paraded, each stage catering to different tastes and persuasions. Unsure about whether she should just look for a body servant submissive enough to enjoy Arithnae's methods of discipline or try to find one sturdy enough to survive objecting to them, she stood in the middle of everything, indecisive. She knew very little about her ladyship's tastes, and deliberately trying to find a body servant that her ladyship would find physically attractive smacked too much of pandering for Namala's comfort.

"Why, Mistress Namala, what brings you here?" The amused voice belonged to Trent, one of Melaine's boys. The Betazoid ambassador had her own matched pair of young men. Trent was the chauffeur. There was no sign of Melaine or the secretary, Baren, that Namala could see, but it was a large establishment. Trent looked a lot more comfortable in their current environment than Namala felt, and he was looking her up and down with a decided lack of respect.

"I could ask you the same thing, young man," Namala reproved him. She wasn't sure of his age, but he looked to be about the same age as her youngest son, much too young to be frequenting a place like this. Of course, Betazoids were known for their liberality about such things, even among Risans. Trent smiled tightly.

"Mistress Melaine sent me on an errand," he told her without elaborating. "I hear your house is in the market for a body servant…one with…ah…special talents." Namala felt her face grow warm. The servants' rumor mill was very efficient.

"Not all that special," she demurred. "I just need to find one able to tolerate her ladyship's moods without quitting at the drop of a hat." Trent's brow went up, and his bottomless black Betazoid eyes cut to one of the stages. He jerked his chin.

"You'll want to head in that direction, then. No one beats a well-trained Betazoid servant at sensing moods and adapting to them," he told her. It was Namala's turn to be surprised.

"You'd recommend one of your own race for the contract?" she asked him. "I would think you'd be uncomfortable with the idea of one of your own women in this position." Betazoid males were notoriously respectful of their women, at times overly so, in Namala's opinion. Trent shook his head.

"It's not a woman you need, Mistress Namala. Look. That's the one I'm talking about."

It was the young man she'd seen entering the establishment with the Andorian woman. Now that he stood with his head erect and his curls gathered at the nape of his neck, she could see that he was Betazoid He was wearing nothing but a tiny pair of metallic gold briefs under a sheer pair of harem pants, with his bare chest and limbs proudly displayed. She walked closer, intrigued despite herself. Several meters from the stage his eyes stopped roaming the crowd and zeroed in on hers. Her breath stopped, not in desire, really, but just in sheer appreciation of his beauty. Then he smiled at her, and she felt twenty years old again. He bowed his head in acknowledgement of her admiration.

"He is good, isn't he?" commented Trent. Namala had forgotten he was there. She cleared her throat.

"He'll do," she said. She wondered briefly whether he could braid hair, and then decided that it probably didn't matter.

#

Raiijin sat back and stared at the blank screen of the comm console that Senek had installed in the room he intended to eventually furnish as his private office. At that moment the room contained a gilt-edged wooden desk, upon which the console rested, and two pink velvet plush chairs, with wall hangings more suited to a lady's boudoir than an office, but at such short notice neither of them had the luxury to be particular about decor. Senek's shock was palpable through the handler's bond they shared. The message from the Security Directorate concerning the details of their mission had contained unexpected information.

"Romulan cover identities? They want us to pose as Romulans who are posing as Vulcans?" asked Raijjin. "Isn't that a bit convoluted even for the Security Directorate?"

Senek sighed. He paused for several seconds in thought, and then raised a brow. "There is logic to it," he conceded. "Intelligence operatives have found evidence of Romulan spy activity in our immediate vicinity. A dual cover identity will enable us to make contact with the local network while simultaneously functioning in our original intended capacity as gatherers of information from ex-patriot Vulcans. Our cover identities will be verifiable to any Romulan contact, but overtly we will act as a Vulcan priest and priestess. The Security Directorate has arranged for that as well. Any ceremonies we perform will be legally binding. I will do the weddings and funerals. Your duties will be…less varied."

"Llahir may have something to say to you regarding my duties," warned Raijiin.

"I thought as much," said Senek calmly. "Compromises will have to be made on both sides if he indeed intends to become your husband." His tone made his opinion of Llahir's lack of judgment quite clear.

"I will have no difficulty playing the role of a Romulan," said Raijiin in a cool voice. "But I have doubts about you." Senek's chin came up. She felt the effect of her statement on his supposedly non-existent pride, but he showed no other outward sign.

"There is no need for concern. We should both behave as Vulcans do. A Romulan operative would be trained not to break discipline upon pain of death. You should remember that," he countered.

"Llahir would be useful in this. Should I approach him?" she asked.

"Llahir has made his intention to retire quite clear, and his allegiance is suspect. You will tell him nothing," Senek ordered. Raijiin smirked.

"As you wish, but if he discovers that you've put me in danger without his protection he won't be pleased with you."

"We will be calling upon every business in this city which caters to Vulcan travelers, but will begin with a visit to this Woodhaven House," said Senek, ignoring her as he brought up a screen of briefing information. "It is owned by a local noble who is rumored to be associated with criminal interests, is unusually reclusive, and is Vulcanoid in appearance."

"Is she Romulan?" asked Raijiin, studying the screen with interest.

"Our sources cannot confirm her origins, but we must assume that it is possible. She could also be an ex-patriot Vulcan. We should approach her as such; as if we are notifying her of the existence of a temple in her vicinity should she have need of one. Once in her presence, you must obtain information from her in your usual fashion."

Raijiin raised an amused brow at him. "Won't the success of that plan depend on her…proclivities?" Senek cleared his throat.

"I meant telepathically," he clarified.

"Very well," Raijjin agreed. "You can be the one to distract her if she fails to respond to my efforts." She bit her lip to keep from smiling at the uncharacteristic expression of alarm on Senek's face.

#

Sehlra paced in the confines of _Lerteiran's _cargo bay, empty now save for pieces of the bunks she'd been dismantling to make room for cargo. She wasn't quite finished, but it was impossible to focus on what she was supposed to be doing. The Risan woman who'd hired Damin had seemed ordinary enough, but no one hired a man dressed like Damin to do anything ordinary.

No one from Damin's clan had contacted her yet to swear the oath of allegiance she was supposed to swear, and he'd been gone for three hours now. She debated locating this Woodhaven House and just barging in to demand Damin back. She could tell them that she'd changed her mind about "contracting out his services". It was a damned peculiar way to describe pimping, but that was the term the "employment facilitator" at that fancy whorehouse had used. The only thing that kept her from doing just that was the certain knowledge that doing so would ruin any chance Damin had of being rejoined to his House.

Behind her, the comm tone sounded. She turned to answer.

"_Requesting permission to come aboard," _came Daniel's weary voice. _"Stern's with me."_

"Come on in, boy. I'm in the cargo bay," Sehlra replied, and deactivated the security seal. One couldn't be too careful in a place swarming with Darkblades, Romulans, and Vulcans. Footsteps echoed down the companionway. Daniel entered the room with a young Vulcan on his heels.

"This is Stern, my _brother_." Daniel's tone bordered on sarcastic and his bitter smile didn't reach his reddened eyes. He'd either been drinking or crying and he looked stone cold sober. Sehlra gave the Vulcan a suspicious glare before beginning her interrogation with Daniel.

"Where've you been, boy? What's happened?"

Daniel winced. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, shook his head, and walked across the room to a stack of empty packing crates, leaving his Vulcan companion standing beside Sehlra. "This stuff needs packing up. I'll tell you later," he tossed over his shoulder. Then he pulled a crate from the top of the stack and started fitting bunk pieces into it.

Sehlra stood watching with both arms crossed, trying to decide whether she needed to hug the boy or slap him. Slapping was looking like the more viable option. In a tone of voice inaudible to the Human across the room the Vulcan murmured, "I will stay with him. He will soon see the illogic of his behavior. Do not be concerned." Then he walked across the cargo bay and began helping Daniel.

Surprised by the Vulcan boy's insight, Sehlra suddenly realized where she'd heard the name before. Although she'd never met him before, she knew that Stern _was _Daniel's brother, or at least as close to a brother as made no difference. Whatever it was that had upset Daniel didn't seem to have affected that as far as Stern was concerned.

She sighed and watched them for a moment. Stern seemed trustworthy enough for a Vulcan. The two of them worked together in coordinated silence, as if they had done manual labor as a team many times before. After a minute or so, Daniel's face and body relaxed. Then the comm sounded again.

"_Requesting permission to come aboard." _T'Riss sounded a little breathless. Sehlra walked back to the comm.

"Come in, girl. The security seal's off," she replied. Footsteps thudded, heralding T'Riss's arrival at a near run. She'd crossed the cargo bay by the time a younger Vulcan girl entered, breathing heavily and carrying several shopping bags.

"Do not be concerned. He is well," said Stern to T'Riss in a calm voice.

"He does not seem so," T'Riss said tensely, her tone accusing.

"Ah…hello? I'm over here," Daniel reminded them. T'Riss reached out a hand to touch his with an apologetic expression, and for the first time since he'd come aboard with Stern, Daniel smiled. It was a wistful smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"I am Jara, Daniel's sister," said the girl with the shopping bags, distracting Sehlra from the other three. "You must be Sehlra. Daniel has told us of you. It is gratifying to finally meet you." Her expression was serious, but sincere. Sehlra nodded and smiled politely. With introductions out of the way, Jara evidently felt free to address the situation directly, for she stalked straight to her brother and confronted him.

"T'Riss nearly injured both of us racing back here. What happened to him?" Jara demanded, jerking her chin at Daniel. Her manner implied that she considered her brother responsible. Stern shrugged helplessly.

"Mother," he said, as if it were all the explanation necessary. Jara's face showed her comprehension.

"It is the height of illogic for her to object to the match now that they're permanently bonded," she said.

"It is not the match she is objecting to," replied Stern. "She is being unreasonable about something else now." His gaze cut briefly to Sehlra before returning to his sister.

"Why is everyone talking around me like I'm not here?" protested Daniel. All three Vulcans turned to him and raised a brow. Despite her annoyance with the lot of them, Sehlra nearly bit her tongue trying not to laugh.

"That's it, boys and girls," she announced in a brisk tone. "Show's over. Daniel and T'Riss have work to do. We'll work this out tonight over dinner. It's all arranged." All four of them turned to her in surprise, as if they'd forgotten she was there.

"Yes. Of course." Jara was the first to speak. She nodded politely, then handed half of the shopping bags she was holding to T'Riss. She turned to Daniel with wide and serious eyes.

"You must not allow Mother's attitude to distress you, Daniel. We are your family. Whatever she has said to you does not change that." She reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder. Stern said nothing, but he immediately gripped Daniel's opposite shoulder. With T'Riss in the center holding Daniel's hand and looking up at him in obvious adoration, the tableau was one Sehlra had never thought to see in her lifetime. It lasted only a second before the brother/sister pair filed out without another word, each nodding to Sehlra as they exited. Daniel stood blinking, still holding T'Riss's hand.

"You all right, lad?" asked Sehlra. Her tone was rougher than she intended. It was either that or tear up, and she was damned if she'd let a bunch of Vulcans make her do that. Daniel smiled down at T'Riss. The girl didn't smile back, but she was still holding his hand and looking at him like he was the Mother's gift to womankind.

"I am now," he said quietly.

"Good. Pack up the bunks, then," ordered Sehlra. "When you're done, change for dinner. I'm going to find Jenrali." The man was entirely too good at disappearing. She was going to need some backup at dinner.

#

Llahir exited his rented vehicle a kilometer or so down the road from the gate wearing a pair of nondescript grey sweatpants, a well-worn matching hooded sweatshirt, and second hand running shoes. He jogged the fenced border of the property, out of sight of the visible security cameras covering the front entrance of the two-story brick structure of Woodhaven House. The house was large and vine-covered, with a substantial and well-kept lawn in the front and extensive gardens at the back and sides. There was only one security guard at the front gate, but the visible security cameras were supplemented by numerous well-hidden sensors of Romulan design. Getting in without being discovered was not an option. He returned to his vehicle, frustrated. Senek had taken Raijiin in there. The car they'd arrived in was parked in the circular drive on the other side of a three-meter tall locked gate made of wrist-thick wrought ironwork.

Senek was either overly confident or not as intelligent as he seemed. Any Romulan capable of accessing the resources that were protecting this property was a force to be reckoned with. The individual inside likely had access to the identities of every Security Directorate agent in the sector. A simple search of the database would betray them both. Senek likely was confident that he could take care of himself in such a situation. For all Llahir knew, he might be right. But Raijiin was not an experienced agent, and Llahir intended to make certain that she lived long enough to become the mother of his children. He remotely activated the surveillance camera he'd planted in a bush across the street from the entry gate and sat back in the driver's seat of the late model sedan he'd rented with his portable security monitor on his lap.

As he watched the front of the house a liveried driver exited the front door, got into Senek's vehicle, and drove the car around to the garage at one side of the house. The man's uniform gave Llahir an idea. A house like Woodhaven required a substantial staff to maintain, and menial jobs traditionally had a high turnover rate. Fortunately, Llahir's generous credit limit had provided him with a vehicle equipped with a comm screen and a link to the local information net. A five minute search of the help-wanted notices gave him enough information for a believable cover story. He took off his sweatshirt and left it in the car, revealing a plain white short-sleeved knit shirt underneath, and approached the gate on foot. The Risan guard, who wore a maroon colored uniform with an embroidered crest on the left breast that matched the crest on the top of the gate, gave him suspicious look. Llahir was used to that. For many reasons his appearance was usually not reassuring to someone meeting him for the first time. His harmless act was a bit rusty, but he pulled it out for the occasion.

"This the Woodhaven House, sir?" he asked in his most servile manner, his hands nervously clasped at his waist.

"Yes, it is. May I help you?" replied the guard with a wary expression. Llahir grimaced apologetically.

"Sorry to disturb you, sir, but I was wondering whether there's still an opening in the kitchen. I saw the list at the employment agency, but I had to walk here from there, so I was hoping that the position hadn't been filled…"

The guard turned and spoke into an intercom. "Someone from the employment agency is here," he said. Llahir couldn't understand the reply, but the guard seemed satisfied with it. "Around the back," he said, and gestured at the service door set beside the guardhouse. A buzz and a click heralded its opening. "Ask for Jemma, the cook."

Llahir met no resistance as he followed the guard's instructions down the path through the herb garden to the kitchen door. He tapped on the window set into the door and a matronly looking little woman wearing an apron answered with a hopeful smile on her face. Her eyes widened when she got a good look at him.

"You're here for the position in the kitchen?" she asked him in a doubtful voice. "Mister Horga'hn?" The name was Risan, but Llahir bluffed through anyway.

"Yes," he hastened to reply. "Yes, I am."

#

Daniel stepped out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist and rubbing another one vigorously over his head. He found T'Riss still dressed only in her underwear. She and Jara must have had some difficulty finding the usual Vulcan styles in their shopping spree, for the wisps of black lace T'Riss was wearing were decidedly illogical in their construction. Vulcan clothing was designed to cover skin from the elements. What T'Riss wore covered very little of her. Daniel approved of the style wholeheartedly.

T'Riss stood contemplating two sets of clothing laid out on the bed with an intent expression on her face.

"Having trouble?" Daniel asked as he laid aside his hair drying towel and sidled up behind her to wrap an arm around her bare midriff. He felt her shiver slightly at the touch of his damp skin. She settled back against him with a sigh, warming his chest.

"Jara said that your foster mother is very socially conscious. She advised that I dress appropriately to my social class to foster cordial relations with her, but it has been some time since I have done so, and I cannot decide what to wear to dinner."

"To hell with her ladyship. Wear what you want to wear," murmured Daniel. "Or we could skip dinner and you can wear what you're wearing now until I take it off." He wrapped both arms around her and began kissing her neck. She closed her eyes and tilted her head to allow him access. He felt her shiver again. This time it had nothing to do with being cold.

"We will be late." Her protest was a token one.

"They'll just have to get used to it now that we're married," he answered, and brushed her hair from the nape of her neck with gentle fingers in preparation for a series of butterfly kisses. He felt her breath hitch. He didn't think the desire he was feeling was entirely his own, but he wasn't sure. Their bond didn't seem any stronger since they'd consummated it. Maybe Stern was right. Maybe they had bonded with their "exercises", an ironic outcome considering the agony he'd gone through while waiting.

"But we aren't married yet," T'Riss countered weakly.

"You heard Stern. We're permanently bonded," replied Daniel. His lips followed the line of her shoulder. He stopped to slip one strap down and then continued his progress. "The rest is just paperwork." T'Riss evidently couldn't find a counter to that argument, or maybe she just didn't want to.

He turned her around and began kissing at her collarbone, working his way toward the taut nipples straining at the fabric of her camisole, but T'Riss cupped his face in her hands and directed him upwards again. Her lips claimed his hungrily, and he pulled her tight to his body. He felt her hot hands at his waist, releasing the towel, and abruptly there was nothing between them but a single layer of whisper thin lace. It was Daniel's turn to shiver.

He reached behind her to the bed and swept both of her clothing options to the deck with a single motion. She fell backward, pulling him with her. He froze, pinning her to the mattress with his weight. A thread of alarm penetrated the bond. Again, he couldn't really tell whose emotion it was. Propped by his elbows, he searched her face for any sign of fear.

"You okay?" He was breathless, half from desire and half from apprehension. In reply, T'Riss reached down and tugged. Lace came away in her fingers. Her eyes begged and her hips gyrated beneath him.

"Daniel. Husband. Please…," she pleaded.

Daniel smiled.

#

Namala eyed the new hire with some trepidation. In his uniform he looked the part, she supposed, but now that he was decently covered it occurred to her that she hadn't exactly checked his credentials. She sat at her desk while he stood beside her chair dressed in one of Callen's outgrown house blazers, a plain white shirt and a pair of cream colored pants. His hair was neatly braided and clubbed. The gold slippers he'd arrived in were the only reminders of his previous attire. His feet were apparently much smaller than Callen's. She reminded herself to add a pair of men's loafers to her shopping list.

"So, ah, Damin, is it?" The impossibly beautiful young man batted his lashes at her and gave her a bashful smile.

"Yes, Mistress Namala. Unless her ladyship prefers to call me something else." His voice was rich and warm, better suited to the bedroom, but his expression was earnest and oddly innocent. Namala cleared her throat.

"Have you had any experience with the duties of a body servant?" she asked. Damin bit his lip.

"I would imagine that the answer to that question would depend on whose body you expect me to serve," he replied in a flirtatious tone. Namala felt her face flush. She pressed on.

"Her ladyship will expect you to assist her with dressing and undressing. You will tidy her quarters, lay out her attire for the day, and assist with her toilette…including her hair. Can you do that?"

Damin gestured with one hand toward the tightly twisted bun on the back of Namala's head. "May I?" he politely inquired. Namala nodded uncertainly, not sure of his meaning. Before she could object he'd stepped behind her chair, loosened her bun and uncoiled it. The grey sprinkled golden length of her hair fell across her shoulders and down the back of her chair. He set hairpins neatly aside on the desk as he encountered them and began massaging her scalp with deft circular motions. Namala let out an involuntary sigh and closed her eyes. Yes. The boy _was_ good.

"Your hair is lovely, Mistress. How would you like to wear it this evening?" It took Namala several blissful seconds to reply.

"A coiled braid. It must be tidy," she murmured. And in less than five minutes, with a minimum of fuss and without the aid of brush or comb, her hair was neatly braided.

"I am afraid that I will need to rely on your assistance with her ladyship's wardrobe until I become accustomed to her tastes and the local styles," said Damin in an apologetic tone. Namala felt her hair—it felt like a silken rope coiled on the back of her head, neither too loose nor too tight—and smiled a wry smile.

"While her ladyship is occupied with guests in the library, let's go review her customary toilette and her wardrobe options, shall we? Follow me to her chambers."

#

"I so rarely have the opportunity to receive Vulcan guests," purred the lady of the house. She reached for the teapot on the low table set between their chairs and poured herself a cup. "Tea?"

Senek gestured in the negative, as did Raijiin. Vulcan clergy did not consume food or drink of any kind in the presence of others. With their bodies in service to all in need, the consumption of food was the only activity in which they were allowed complete privacy. Arithnae was apparently not aware of the custom, or perhaps she was testing them. She lifted her teacup and took a sip. "It is gratifying to know, Reverend Senek, that you and your counterpart will soon be offering your services here on Risa, but what, may I ask, made you think to call upon me?" Although her demeanor remained strictly proper, there was something about her that made Senek uncomfortable. The robes she wore resembled those of Pre-Surak Vulcan in style and cut, though their deep emerald color was not one commonly used for clothing, being much too close to the color of freshly shed blood.

"It was my idea, your ladyship," said Raijjin. She was in full seduction mode, her voice husky and deep. He could sense the emotions she was projecting toward Lady Arithnae, and even he was not unaffected by them. Her wide blue eyes met Arithnae's without perceptible guile. "I was told that of the Risan houses involved in import and export, yours is the wealthiest. Logically, then, I assumed that you would be the best place to start in our search for financial sponsors."

Arithnae laughed, a harsh sound which betrayed how seldom she indulged in the practice. "So, it comes down to funding, then." Her smile was toothy. Senek half expected her teeth to be pointed. They weren't, of course, but her ears appeared to be, as their intelligence suggested. She'd hidden them in the coils of her hair, so he couldn't be sure. "Your honesty is refreshing, my dear. In return, I will be the first sponsor of your temple. You may see Namala before your departure for the details." Raijiin tipped her head in gratitude. To Senek's relief, she stayed fully in character and refrained from smiling at the woman.

"I am honored, your ladyship. If we can ever be of service to you, please do not hesitate to ask." The words of her offer were straightforward. It was her tone of voice that turned her statement into something erotic.

Arithnae sipped her tea, eyeing Raijiin over the brim of her cup with an intrigued expression. "Are you certain you won't have a cup of tea?" she offered again. Behind her, the door opened. It was all Senek could do to seem unaffected by the sight. Llahir entered wearing house livery, with an apron tied around his waist and a tray in his hand. Senek felt Raijiin's shock through their handler's bond, and faintly, something else that felt like darkness in her mind, a burning angry heat he'd never sensed before. Llahir walked to the sideboard and began dishing out servings of something into saucers. "Perhaps something to eat?" continued Arithnae, seemingly oblivious.

"I'm afraid we must decline, my lady," said Raijiin. Arithnae opened her mouth as if to reply, and then paused and did a double take as she noticed Llahir. A thrill of alarm from Raijiin accompanied Arithnae's inspection of the man.

"You… cook's helper. I've not seen you before. Come here." Her voice was imperious, completely different from the tone she'd been using prior to his arrival. Llahir approached her chair with a dish in one hand.

"Would you care for fruit, my lady?" His manner was deferential, at odds with the usual way he presented himself. He looked down at the floor when speaking. Instead of seeming threatening, his scarred face inspired pity.

"What is your name?" demanded Arithnae sharply.

"I am Horga'hn, my lady. The employment agency sent me over this afternoon," replied Llahir. He was taking a risk, Senek thought. What if the woman decided to check out his story?

"Horga'hn is a Risan name. You are not Risan," countered Arithnae.

"Only half, my lady," said Llahir, his tone that of a man repeating a truth he hated but could not deny.

"And the other half?" Arithnae pressed.

Fascinated, Senek watched Llahir flush olive green in shame and stare fixedly at the floor. He showed no trace at all of his usual emotional control. "Vulcan," Llahir whispered.

"Where were you working before applying at the employment agency, Horga'hn? Why have I not seen you before?" continued Arithnae, completely ignoring the man's discomfort.

"The loading docks, my lady."

Arithnae raised a brow in surprise. "It's a substantial drop in pay, isn't it…from dock worker to kitchen helper? Why would you choose to take a job which pays so little?" Llahir's hand came up to finger one scarred cheek. He was still staring at the ground.

"I thought it would be… safer…, my lady. The other workers…they didn't like me very much…" Senek blinked. He knew it was all an act, and yet the plight of the poor, mistreated half breed still touched something within him.

"And that, my dear Reverend, only emphasizes the need for your work here on Risa," announced Arithnae in a cheerful tone. She dismissed Llahir with a wave of her hand, apparently satisfied by his answers. "We have a living example right here in this house. Had your services been available for Horga'hn's father, then all of this man's misery could have been avoided."

"That may be true, my lady," commented Raijiin, "But it is also true that had temple services been available at the time, your new cook's helper would most likely not have been born at all. I see no logic in preferring his non-existence over his existence, however difficult his life might be." Her eyes followed Llahir back to the sideboard, where he was returning the disdained fruit to its serving bowl. Senek sent her a mental warning. They were there to ingratiate themselves with Arithnae, not to argue with her.

"An interesting point of view," commented Arithnae. She ignored Llahir completely as he left the room. Her narrowed eyes were fixed on Raijiin. "And a most unusual one for you to take, as it predicates condoning the existence of a Vulcan half breed, something I have never known any Vulcan to do."

"My counterpart and I are somewhat more open minded than the Vulcans you are accustomed to dealing with, my lady," Senek hastened to put in. "We would otherwise not be very well-suited to our current positions."

Arithnae tipped her head in agreement. "Granted. Or your counterpart might not be as Vulcan as she claims." Senek clamped down on his reaction, but Raijiin's sudden spike of panic blazed, both in his mind and—very subtly—on her face. Arithnae smiled again, a ruthless smile.

"I can see numerous potential advantages in catering to the segment of Risan visitors who would be intrigued by the idea of sex with a Vulcan," she said crudely. "So much so that it might be worth hiring a high-priced courtesan to play the part."

Rajiin stiffened, playing the outraged proper priestess to the hilt. "I fail to see the logic in insults, Lady Arithnae. We called upon you in good faith today to offer our services…"

"And yet despite the 'official' Vulcan disapproval of anything other than strict heterosexuality, you are the one throwing herself at me while your male counterpart sits there as cold as a fish," finished Arithnae. At Raijiin's chagrined expression, Arithnae smiled, looking genuinely amused for the first time. "Oh, don't blame yourself, my dear. You're totally delightful." She rolled her eyes at Senek. "It was that one that first tipped me off. He's almost too Vulcan to be Vulcan, if you know what I mean." Behind her on a table tucked between two floor-to-ceiling bookshelves full of leather-bound antique books, a comm screen sounded its high-pitched tone.

"Ah. That would be the sector-wide ID request I placed upon your arrival. Would either of you like to say anything before I read the results?" Arithnae raised a brow and waited. Senek and Raijiin exchanged a look, but there was no time for discussion. Raijiin beat him to the target.

She abandoned all pretense of being Vulcan and threw herself to her knees before Arithnae, extending both hands to grasp the woman's foot before pitching forward to press her forehead to them.

"Most honored one, this one begs forgiveness for attempting to deceive." The words were in ancient High Vulcan. Arithnae, taken aback, tried to pull her foot away. Raijjin clung like a leech, climbing up the woman's leg and body hand over hand like a primate up a tree. Her hands were clamped about Arithnae's head and the meld was achieved before Arithnae had the chance to take another breath. Arithnae, who looked quite obviously Romulan with her ears uncovered by Raijiin's questing fingers, slumped into unconsciousness in her chair with Raijiin on top of her.

#

Stern entered the restaurant that had been designated for the upcoming conference with a combination of curiosity and ravenous anticipation. His distaste for the proposed nuptials had initially produced an unfortunate effect on his appetite, but now that he was virtually certain of being able to marry the woman of his choice, he realized that he could eat an entire garden in a single sitting if given the opportunity. If he were not a healer, he might even have been willing to consider a mollusk or two.

Jara and V'Lan were already seated at the reserved table with complimentary beverages and a platter of appetizers in the center of things. Neither of them looked to share Stern's cheerfulness. His mother had without doubt taken advantage of her time alone with Jara in their shared hotel room to harangue her about the situation with Daniel while they changed for dinner. Jara looked more than ordinarily stressed, but she had never been one to challenge their mother. Neither was he on principle, but that was about to change.

As Stern greeted them and started to sit down, he saw Saran and T'Rel approaching. Since it cost no extra energy, he elected to remain standing and offer the ta'al before sitting down along with the parents of his new foster sister-in-law. A Risan waitress wearing what looked like undergarments arrived to provide more drinks and snacks all around while they waited for the rest of the party.

"It seems our host has elected tardiness," T'Rel remarked primly as she sat down.

"Our host and hostess," Jara reminded her impassively. "If, as both Stern and Saran seem to agree, they are a bonded couple now, then we should properly regard the invitation as jointly extended."

T'Rel made no reply, but her expression looked ruffled. Stern cheerfully remarked, "I am certain that they will be here soon. I have rarely known Daniel to miss a meal."

"Two Andorians approach," Jara said abruptly. The men stood up to greet the newcomers, who paused just inside the alcove with wary expressions.

Saran, as the eldest, quite properly spoke for the group. He made a fist and held it vertically. Then he brought it down and laid it against the base of his throat. "Honor and success to you and your house. I am Saran, father of T'Riss." Stern was impressed. There were few Vulcans of Saran's generation who cared to learn Andorian social gestures, much less use them. Saran introduced each Vulcan at the table in turn.

Sehlra did not seem placated, although she did nod a gruff greeting to both Jara and Stern, but the older male raised his hand in the ta'al and recited, in extraordinarily bad Vulcan, "Peace and long life. I'm Jenrali, this is Sehlra." They seated themselves, to everyone's relief, at the far side of the table. "The youngsters not make it yet?"

"It appears that they have been delayed," Saran replied. "Would you care for some water?"

Both Andorians twisted their antenna in a pattern that Stern recognized as minor irritation. He wondered why. Surely it was only logical that Saran, as eldest, should act as host until Daniel arrived?

"We can do our own ordering," the Jenrali said tersely. "Did they send a message?"

"No," V'Lan said frostily. "However, I welcome the opportunity to speak to my foster son's partners. Since my family," she glared at Stern, who felt his belly tighten, "did not see fit to inform me of Daniel's partnership agreement I am most interested in learning about the history of your relationship."

Sehlra gave Stern's mother a calculating look. "Any reason Daniel wouldn't want you knowing he was working with blueskins?" she asked bluntly.

"It was not Daniel's doing," Stern admitted reluctantly. "I must not permit you to gain a false impression. He informed me of the full particulars."

Sehlra regarded him with withdrawn antenna. "And you decided she couldn't handle it?" Stern squirmed a bit and groped for a reply.

"Irrelevant," V'Lan told her. "Daniel speaks well of you. On the other hand, I am reliably informed that you have a well-established history with the Orion Syndicate. Please reconcile this inconsistency."

Sehlra opened her mouth but didn't get the chance to answer, to her companion's obvious relief. The server returned and earned a disapproving glare. The Risan woman ignored the collective disdain of the female portion of the group in favor of smiling at the males. Jenrali ordered ale for himself and a mug of Terran chocolate for his shipmate. Sehlra subsided slightly, but only slightly. Stern hurried to deflect the course of the conversation into a less controversial direction.

"I wonder what has delayed Daniel and T'Riss," he said. "It is unusual for Daniel to delay his access to food so long." The Andorian male barked a laugh and twisted his antenna in agreement.

"Daniel's appetite has gained near legendary status among our clan," Jara agreed.

"Most likely they're taking care of another appetite," Sehlra remarked casually. She took a bite of snack bread from the central tray and made a grimace of distaste. "That stuff tastes exactly like emergency rations."

Stern felt enlightenment break over him. Of course. The two were recently bonded. Based on his research he should have expected Daniel's sexual appetite to be at least the equal of his appetite for food. Then he noticed the selection of looks being directed at the Andorian - ranging from curiosity to shock to scandalized disdain.

"It is not necessary to discuss this in public," T'Riss' mother said tightly. "Or at all, for that matter."

"Why not?" Sehlra plainly did not feel any compulsion to comply with Vulcan standards of tact. "Humans don't care. They talk about this kind of thing openly. Ask Daniel when he gets here."

"I think not," Jara said quickly, looking at her mother nervously. Stern shared her disquiet. V'Lan was plainly about to explode.

Saran said quietly, "Rather than speculate about the matter on a personal basis, perhaps Stern would be willing to provide a brief explanation of the biochemical mechanism of Human mating habits. He's done a good deal of research on the subject. It might reassure you, T'Rel, to know that Humans do bond, in their own fashion."

Stern sighed in relief. By moving things from a personal level to a scientific discussion, Saran had provided the two matrons with an excuse to refrain from unleashing their wrath. He started talking fast. "The evolutionary mechanism is straightforward enough. The exchange of bio-chemical compounds called pheromones first activates, and then seals, the instinctive fixation in the Human hindbrain."

"I see." Jenrali pursed his lips."Is that why they mate so much?"

Stern winced internally and answered swiftly. "Actually, yes. In both genders the act of mating triggers a feeling of connection. In order for the bonding mechanism to achieve its full effect, the pair must mate at frequent intervals for an extended period of time. The initial stage of a Human pairing consists of something referred to as the 'honeymoon' period. It is a period of increased interest in intimate activity that continues with gradually decreasing intensity for a significant portion of the first year together."

Saran paused with a piece of plomeek halfway to his mouth. He slowly put it back down and stared. Nobody else at the table moved or spoke. Finally Saran whispered, sounding appalled, "A year?"

"Yes. But it is of much milder intensity than is customary with Vulcans," Stern assured him. "The Humans affected by it are still able to control themselves. Usually. Meanwhile the nearly constant mating not coincidentally increases the probability of impregnating the female as soon as possible, thus completing the family unit."

"A year?" T'Rel echoed, sounding as if she were strangling. Saran, sitting beside her, reached out and touched two fingertips to the back of her hand. The gesture calmed her enough to start her breathing again.

"It is apparently not an unpleasant time," Jara put in helpfully. "There is much Human literature devoted to the positive aspects of it. Perhaps T'Riss will not consider herself unduly burdened."

"I would certainly hope not," commented V'Lan. "T'Riss has chosen a Human as her spouse. She should be prepared for all that it entails. Daniel will not have a wife who is incapable of fulfilling her responsibilities. She must be…"

"I assure you that my daughter is fully capable of fulfilling her responsibilities," replied T'Rel in an ascerbic tone. "Your foster son, on the other hand, has shown no evidence thus far of being capable of properly caring for…"

"Now wait just a minute…" Sehlra cut in hotly. "Daniel's a fine lad. He'd make any woman proud to…"

"Ladies?" Saran ventured at conversational volume. All three women ignored him, simultaneously continuing their arguments in unusually uncivil tones. "Ladies!" he repeated a little louder, and remained unheeded. Stern watched in fascination as the older man's face began to turn a vivid shade of green. The babble at the table was deafening.

"SILENCE!" shouted Saran finally, at the top of his lungs. All three women stopped talking in utter shock and turned to stare at him. Saran raised a hand, all the while taking a deep, calming breath. By the time he'd exhaled completely, all three women were staring studiously at the appetizer platter in the center of the table, avoiding eye contact with the others. Stern saw his mother glance swiftly around the room. Fortunately, no one had noticed the free-for-all, or perhaps the other diners were simply too polite to acknowledge it. Jara cleared her throat.

"I will return shortly," she announced, and rose from the table, probably headed for the ladies restroom to hide, Stern thought.

"I will come with you," said Sehlra, and hastened to join her. Stern watched them leave enviously. He would have been glad for a similar excuse to run and hide, but leaving the table en masse during a social gathering, ostensibly to attend to matters of personal hygiene, was the purview of females. Curiously, his research indicated that this was the case for most humanoid species.

"Waitress!" called Jenrali. "Where's my ale?"

#

Sehlra turned the corner past a row of bushy Risan potted greenery, breathing hard. Jara entered the ladies room several steps ahead of her. The girl was fast—and very eager to escape, apparently. Behind her and down the hall Sehlra heard dishes clanking in the kitchen through the open service door.

"Sehlra?" asked a deep quiet voice. It was vaguely familiar. She turned to find Senek's scar-faced side-kick Llahir in the hallway behind her. He was wearing a maroon blazer with a crest embroidered on the left breast pocket. It was familiar as well, but exactly where she'd seen it escaped her.

"What are you doing here? I thought you'd retired to a luxury hotel suite. Are you bored already?" Sehlra quipped. She hadn't gotten the chance to spend much time with the man while he was a passenger on _Lertieran_, but the few times they'd spoken en route all he'd talked about were his plans to do as little as possible once he arrived on Risa.

Llahir lifted a take-out bag and showed it to her with bland amusement on his face. "Her ladyship requested prawns Klingon-style this evening... to go." While Sehlra was digesting that statement, too distracted by the way the bag was squirming to ask him which "ladyship" he was referring to, he stepped up so close to her that their bodies were almost in contact and murmured, "I saw your mate today at Woodhaven House." That piqued her interest. Then she remembered where she'd seen the jacket he was wearing. The woman who'd hired Damin had worn one just like it.

"How is he? Is he safe?" she whispered back.

"For now," Llahir returned, not very reassuringly, and went on. "Senek and Raijiin are in the house as well. I have reason to believe that all of them may be in grave danger and I will need some assistance to get them out. Do you think that you and Jenrali might…?"

"Tell me when and where. We'll be there," said Sehlra without hesitation.

#

The cloud covered blue-green globe of Risa filled the _Enterprise's_ viewscreen, looking so much like Earth that it made Jonathan Archer a little homesick. Exactly what he was missing, though, was hard for him to pinpoint. He had no family left. His relationship with Erica was old history now that she had her own command. There were places he missed, of course, memories he wanted to relive by visiting familiar locales, places he'd always wanted to visit and had never had the chance before leaving Earth behind, but everyone he considered family was here on _Enterprise. _

"Risa Control is hailing us, Captain," Hoshi reported. "They want to know if our visit is for business or pleasure." Archer had made it clear with a ship-wide announcement at the beginning of the current shift that no shore leave would be granted until the business at hand was complete. It had not been a universally popular decision. Archer rolled his eyes.

"Tell them _business…_ and transmit our clearance code to the Director of Planetary Security," he told her. "Tell her that our team will be arriving at her office within the hour with information concerning the individual we're searching for. Any help she can provide will be greatly appreciated."

"Yes, Captain." Hoshi was all business on the bridge. It was hard to believe the scuttlebutt about her escapades in the sweet spot with Lieutenant Reed. Of course, Archer didn't "officially" know anything about any of that. He turned toward said lieutenant, who immediately jerked his attention away from making eyes at Hoshi to present his best stiff upper lip.

"Malcolm, Travis, you're with me," said Archer as he headed for the turbolift. "Hoshi, get on the comm and tell Commander Tucker to meet us in the shuttlebay. T'Pol, you have the conn." He passed by her station and made eye contact. She nodded, acknowledging the transfer of command. There was a look on her face, a relatively recent change. Respect was something he'd never expected to get from her again after what he'd done, but it was in her eyes. He gave her a grateful smile and boarded the turbolift. Malcolm and Travis slipped in behind him.

"The Vulcans are still confined to quarters, Captain," said Malcolm. "Should we bring one of them with us? They claim to know where Damin is. The melder even says he can help us take him in."

"T'Pol doesn't trust them. She thinks the melder is lying about the Romulan prisoner and the cause of her unresponsiveness," Archer told him. "I trust T'Pol's judgement, so the Vulcans stay here."

"Yes, sir," Malcolm conceded. He paused for a second, and then, to Archer's relief, he did his job. "Should we at least bring a security team?"

Archer nodded. "It would probably be safer, but I'd rather rely on local muscle and use our people for tech support. Doing otherwise implies that the locals can't do their jobs, and I'd rather avoid antagonizing them. You've worked with Damin and can recognize him. Trip knows the _Lertieran _crew, the last company Damin was known to keep. I'll make nice with the Risan Security Director." He smiled. "Between the three of us we should be able to do what needs doing." He caught Travis eyeing him and realized that he hadn't included his best pilot in the mission plan. Archer clapped the young man on the shoulder. "And Travis has the most important job," he said in a hearty tone. "He's going to get us there in one piece." Travis grimaced good-naturedly and rolled his eyes.

To be continued in Episode 15


	15. Chapter 15

**The Lerteiran Chronicles**

**Episode Fifteen: Home, Sweet Home**

**By Blacknblue and Distracted**

**Genre: Action Adventure and Romance**

**Rating: R**

**Disclaimer: We don't own the Star Trek universe. We just go there to play. Honest. **

**We do, however, own our original characters and story ideas. You are welcome to borrow them as long as no money changes hands. If we can't make anything from this, nobody else gets to either.**

**Summary: The crew of Enterprise goes hunting for Damin, a confrontation is in store at Woodhaven House, and it's finally time for a wedding… or two. The concluding episode of the Lertieran Chronicles.**

**Authors' note: Believe it or not, we started this series in 2007. It's been a fun ride, and we're happy to bring you this hopefully exciting concluding episode of The Lerteiran Chronicles. **

##########################

T'Riss woke in darkness. She lay quietly and listened to the sound of Daniel's soft snoring for a few seconds before levering herself up on one elbow—carefully so she would not wake him. The Human-made chronometer beside their narrow bed showed 0600. She was pinned against the wall by his body, but she'd learned from experience that he would not appreciate being roused at such an hour, so she inched her way to the foot of the bed and climbed out that way instead of climbing over him.

The bed they shared was not intended for two occupants, but Daniel had promised to construct a frame meant for a larger mattress at his first opportunity. For some reason he'd declined her offer to do it herself, even though his more senior status aboard ship meant that he'd been assigned a greater number of more complex maintenance duties and was thus more occupied than she was. Humans had, in her opinion, some odd ideas about gender roles.

She settled on a cushion in the center of the floor for her early morning meditation, but found it difficult to concentrate. Instead, the previous evening's events occupied her thoughts. Dinner had been anticlimactic after the drama of the previous several days. Immediately following their arrival at the restaurant T'Riss had gotten the distinct impression that the confrontation she'd anticipated was already over. Conversation at the table had been calm and pleasant, focused on two primary topics: the crew of _Lerteiran's _plans for future commerce and Daniel and T'Riss's wedding plans.

Somewhat to T'Riss's dismay, by the end of the evening a date had been set only three days hence in a recently opened local Vulcan Golic Temple, and, after a remarkably civil discussion about Vulcan/Andorian/Human comparative wedding customs, an event called a "reception" was scheduled to take place in the very restaurant where they were dining. Precisely what she and Daniel were meant to "receive" during this activity was not entirely clear to her, but Daniel seemed pleased with the idea. He'd left the restaurant in high spirits. They'd celebrated afterwards until the early morning hours upon their narrow bed, in the shower, and as best as she could recall at least once on the floor with nothing but a blanket between bare skin and cold deck plates.

T'Riss's mother hadn't said a single word to imply that Daniel was the least bit unsuitable all through dinner, though she did keep looking at T'Riss's father with an expression that seemed almost guilty. This was of course impossible, since T'Rel would be the first person to insist that she did not experience guilt. Immediately following dinner, Daniel's foster mother had requested a private meeting with her sons. T'Riss spent the time consulting with her mother and Daniel's foster sister on the most logical approach to coordinating their garments for the ceremony. After a substantial delay, V'Lan and her sons emerged. All three appeared more relaxed, with Daniel's brother in particular giving the impression of deep satisfaction.

In his typically mercurial Human fashion, it seemed to T'Riss that Daniel had forgiven his foster mother for whatever it was she had said to upset him the previous day. He'd explained to T'Riss that he understood why V'Lan had said what she'd said and that nothing could be done to change her attitudes. V'Lan would soon be going back to Vulcan anyway, where her opinions would be effectively irrelevant. T'Riss considered this to be a singularly mature and logical response to the situation, but it didn't stop her from being annoyed at V'Lan for distressing her bondmate. The entire evening had proven to be a most perplexing experience, now that T'Riss had the opportunity to consider it. She settled in to reflect on it, and on the ramifications of her mother's change in attitude.

#

Trip Tucker stepped out of the shuttlecraft, following Malcolm and Jon on to the rooftop landing pad of Risa City's Central Security headquarters. Travis followed him, securing the shuttlepod's doors behind them. As expected, the weather was pleasantly warm. Trip could see the tree-lined pedestrian avenues of Risa City extending outward from the plaza, where the central security building made one side of the square. It was early in the day local time. The avenues were filled with colorfully and minimally dressed pedestrians all strolling, walking, jogging, or running to their respective destinations.

"Feels like early fall in Florida," he commented.

"The whole planet is climate controlled, remember? It always feels like early fall at this latitude…except when it feels like late spring," joked Jon. He'd been more relaxed lately, more like the friend Trip had known before the stresses of the Expanse. Despite everything, Trip couldn't help smiling in response.

"It's got to rain sometime," objected Malcolm.

"Oh, it does," piped up a female voice. It came from a woman who'd just stepped out of the shadow of the doorway at the rooftop entrance. She was dressed in what Trip guessed was meant to be a Risan police uniform. The planet's controlled climate evidently made protective clothing optional even for security personnel, for she was wearing a sidearm on a belt buckled around a pair of black stretch micro-shorts. A black halter top ornamented with a small metallic gold insignia completed the ensemble. She was a blonde with a sensible pony tail, tanned all over without any tan lines he could detect, and looked about twenty-five years old, with the muscular build of an athlete in training. She approached the men to face a wide-eyed Jonathan Archer.

"It rains every morning for two hours, just before sunrise," she told them with brisk efficiency. "Occasionally central weather control grants a request for rainbows. They require a daytime shower." She raised a brow without smiling, looking suddenly tougher and certainly not the type to care much about rainbows. Trip pushed his age estimate up a decade. "Those are reserved for very special occasions."

Malcolm blinked at her in puzzlement, as if he were trying to process the concept of rainbows on demand. Jon smiled, obviously entranced.

"Layla Hemlawn, Captain," said the woman, smiling politely in return. "I'm Risa City's Director of Security." She hesitated a moment at Jon's immobility, and then stuck out her right hand awkwardly, as if she were mimicking a social convention she'd heard about but had never used.

The captain blinked at her for a second or two before he noticed.

"Jonathan Archer," he managed, and shook her hand. Trip bit his lip to keep the grin off his face. The captain was obviously struggling to keep his eyes on her face and away from the rest of her. Trip wondered if there were any Risan police officers with more than ten percent body fat. If so, they must not have any body image issues if they were comfortable in that uniform. It occurred to him that he hadn't yet seen what the men's uniform looked like, and he tried to put the thought out of his head.

Director Hemlawn proceeded to shake hands with each of them, getting better at it as she progressed from man to man. She avoided eye contact. Trip couldn't decide whether she was a little shy under such close inspection by off-worlders or whether she was just preoccupied. And then she shook hands with Travis.

"Well… Ensign Mayweather, is it?" She held on to his hand a bit longer than was strictly necessary and inspected him slowly from head to foot, her eyes lingering on various parts of his anatomy before gazing into his dark eyes. "Welcome to Risa," she murmured, smiling. "Once this unpleasant business is over I'd love to show you the sights."

Trip watched Travis give the woman an uncomfortable looking grimace in lieu of a smile. He had no doubt that had the helmsman been capable of blushing, he would have done so. Trip bit his lip again. Not shy. Nope.

The captain cleared his throat.

"Director, I'd like to say how appreciative we are for your help with this situation. I'm sure we'll be able to find…"

"Come this way, Captain," interrupted Director Hemlawn. She turned toward the door and started walking. "We should be in a secure location before we talk," she said over her shoulder without stopping. Jon looked back at the rest of them with a helpless expression. Trip shrugged back at him, and the four of them followed her into the building.

#

Sehlra crouched in the ornamental hedge. The veil that she wore over her head and face was colored a fair match for the dappled green of the leaves around her, or at least a closer match than her natural skin color. She kept her eyes on Jenrali, who looked unusually handsome and eminently respectable in his dress uniform as he walked up the drive of Woodhaven House.

No one was paying attention to him. The front door hung open and Sehlra could see the middle-aged Risan woman who'd hired Damin standing on the threshold. She was arguing with a younger man who seemed bent on leaving. Sehlra set her earpiece more firmly in her ear. Jenrali's transmitter was picking up the conversation.

"Doctor, please don't go! The Lady Arithnae is in need of care!" The woman looked more frustrated than distraught. The young doctor shrugged and shook his head, seeming equally frustrated.

"I can do nothing for her here, Mistress Namala…and her recorded instructions for such eventualities are clear. She does not wish to be brought to a hospital," he said. "You might call a Vulcan healer as the priest suggested."

"There are no Vulcan healers _in_ Risa City, Doctor," she retorted, "Unless you know of one who's just arrived." Sehlra clearly heard an unprofessional growl of annoyance from the doctor.

"I have other patients to care for, and the Lady Arithnae is neither dying nor in any imminent danger. She is merely unconscious, and that condition does not require my presence," he pronounced. "I'll be back this evening to check on her. In the mean time I suggest you pursue legal means to overturn her instructions if you want me to do anything for her." He turned and started back to the vehicle in the drive, crossing paths with Jenrali as he did so.

From her hiding place Sehlra saw the woman's expression when she caught sight of Jenrali for the first time. Looking at her face one might have assumed a Servant of the Great Mother had arrived on her doorstep complete with fluffy white feathered wings. After a second or two the Risan closed her mouth and spoke.

"May I help you, sir?

From her hiding place Sehlra couldn't see Jenrali's face, but the bow he made was fit for the Imperial Court. "Captain Jenrali Dor Liuk Sefroth, at your service, my lady," he replied with a flourish of one wrist as he bowed and straightened. "I have come upon difficult times, and request the honor of applying for a position in your House as butler." The Risan woman smiled up at him as he stood beside her, straight and strong. Sehlra could see the resulting dimple in her right cheek from across the lawn, and rolled her eyes. Jenrali was doomed.

The woman laughed lightly. "Oh, I'm not the lady of the house, sir, but I could certainly use some help. Have you experience running a household?"

"I was a supply officer in the Andorian Imperial Guard. I have experience running a _regiment,_ Mistress…?" He paused politely for her to fill in the gap.

"Namala," replied the woman, blushing. She was looking directly at him. From Sehlra's hiding place the flush on the Risan's cheek made her look at least a decade younger than before.

She was Jenrali's type. Sehlra had to admit that. He always went for the delicate ones.

#

Malcolm Reed eyed his surroundings. The four from _Enterprise _sat around a conference table in a spacious room. The room had airy windows which were shuttered now for a better view of the vidscreen. The department seemed well-equipped despite the officers' ludicrous uniforms. Director Hemlawn's conference room contained a screen almost as large as the one on the bridge of the _Enterprise. _At the moment it was divided into several images. She stood in front of it while she briefed the away team on the local situation.

"As I'm sure you are aware, the voluntary exchange of sexual favors between adults, with or without monetary compensation, is quite legal here on Risa," she began. "A problem arises, however, when the exchange is coerced, and there are times when our concept of contract labor is misinterpreted by offworlders as the equivalent of purchasing a slave, especially in certain markets."

She indicated the image of a large warehouse-looking establishment on-screen. Individuals of several different races were walking in and out of it, some with skimpily dressed companions on their arms or following behind them on leashes. "This is the Gul'hamen Pleasure Exchange. The owner has recently reported an influx of anonymous foreign customers. Her contract brokers have complained to Central Security that their employees are being returned to them gravely injured. Some have been tortured and interrogated, others subjected to violent sex play without their consent and sent back nearly dead or permanently disfigured."

Malcolm winced when several images of bruised and battered faces appeared on screen, a couple of them bearing ghastly wounds. Strangely, they all looked Human, or so nearly so as to be indistinguishable from Human.

"The owner now requires that all customers present ID and references in order to do business at her establishment, but all this seems to have done is to force the offworlders involved to hire local subcontractors to do the hiring for them. For obvious reasons I have been reluctant to send my officers into this situation undercover," continued Director Hemlawn. "Fortunately," she went on, "I've managed to contract for the assistance of the Darkblades. They have inserted their own operatives into the situation and are promising me a report within the next two days. Most of the victims are Betazoids, so the Darkblades have a personal interest in this."

"The Darkblades? Who are they?" asked the captain.

"By reputation? They're a minor Betazoid house with fingers in organized crime across the sector," answered Hemlawn. She shrugged. "I haven't had much trouble from them, mainly because most of what they do illegally on other planets is perfectly legal here on Risa. We have no restrictions on mood altering chemicals other than that they should be unadulterated and honestly advertised—the same goes for private acts between consenting adults. Telepaths are always in demand for keeping things honest during business transactions, and nothing beats a Betazoid companion when it comes to knowing a person's desires without being told." She smiled. "Darkblades fit right in on Risa."

"Why are the victims being interrogated?" put in Trip, surprising Malcolm with his insight. He did have a point. It was hardly the usual thing one did with a sex worker.

"The victims weren't very coherent," admitted Hemlawn. "They reported being forced to answer questions about their lives before coming to Risa and about their co-workers, as if the questioner was looking for someone or something specific within Risa City's pleasure quarter."

"Did any of them get a look at the person questioning them?" asked Malcolm.

Hemlawn shook her blonde head regretfully. "Blindfolds," was her terse response. "But we do have a lead on your man. When you sent me this image of the Betazoid you're looking for, I recognized him." Damin's picture appeared onscreen, one taken in the ready room on _Enterprise. _He was dressed in a pastel rainbow-colored silk jacket with long black ringlets hanging around his face like a girl. The man's appearance had always made Malcolm distinctly uncomfortable. He was too bloody beautiful to be male. Hoshi had even remarked on his discomfort and mercilessly teased him about it, asking him if he wanted her to grow her hair longer and curl it. He'd had to kiss her senseless to shut her up.

"The leader of the Darkblades sent me this footage of their undercover agent being purchased by a House suspected of subcontracting for offworlders." The footage was of a slave market, or of something so close to one as made no difference. It was obviously Damin on the stage, minus most of his clothing and behaving in a much more subservient manner than Malcolm was accustomed to seeing. He was led away on a leash to join a middle aged woman who was wearing a maroon colored blazer with some sort of crest on the breast pocket. She looked pained and embarrassed when she was handed the leash, but she took it anyway and led him away. "His services were purchased yesterday by Woodhaven House. He's in place now to deliver intelligence. The Darkblades have people ready to retrieve him at his signal. I intend to stay out of their way until he's safe, but you're welcome to negotiate with the Darkblades once they've retrieved him."

"The last time we saw that guy he'd bought a berth on a freighter called _Lerteiran_ along with a gang of rescued sex workers from Orion space," said Trip. "They were heading in your direction to set up shop. How did he end up with these Darkblades?"

"Evidently he's family," replied the director. "The Darkblades are notoriously insular. No one gets in without some sort of family connection."

"So he's a member of the Betazoid Mafia," Malcolm muttered. "Why am I not astonished?"

A young male officer dressed in a black mesh sleeveless shirt over stretch black mini-shorts entered the room. Malcolm felt his face go warm. Trip exchanged a look of disbelief with the captain before sticking his tongue in one cheek. Travis said nothing, as usual. As far as Malcolm could tell, the helmsman had spent the entire briefing thus far with his eyes fixed on the viewscreen, doing his best not to make eye contact with Director Hemlawn. The underdressed policeman stepped up to her and whispered something in her ear. She nodded, and he stepped out of the room again.

"I've just been informed that our surveillance team at Woodhaven House is ready for change of shift. If you'd like to send someone with our team to observe the house and confirm the presence of the man you're looking for, Captain, now would be the time," offered the director.

#

"I'll take this upstairs to her ladyship's new body servant. He's been attending her all night without anything to eat," said Llahir to the cook. He lifted a tray in both hands. Jemma was looking stressed. He couldn't blame her, with all of the new mouths to feed in the previous twenty-four hours, some of them with special dietary requirements. She gave him a grateful smile from where she stood at the counter elbow deep in bread dough. She pushed hair out of her face with one forearm, leaving a flour smudge on her nose.

"Thank you, Horga'hn. I'd forgotten all about the poor boy," she told him, and kept kneading. "Come right back, though. We've got to peel and stew those plomeek things you bought for our Vulcan guests, and I have no idea how to make them edible."

"It won't take much," he called over his shoulder. "Vulcans aren't big on seasoning." He carried the tray with its covered dish and glass of cold fruit tea down the hall and up the main staircase. Behind him in the foyer Mistress Namala was in discussion with Senek, who was still dressed as a Vulcan priest. Jenrali stood beside them looking like a hotel doorman in his uniform. Neither of the men acknowledged him, which was as it should be. He passed the timid little upstairs maid on his way up the stairs. She gave him a wary look. He smiled at her, but all that did was to make her run the rest of the way down the stairs. Llahir chuckled. The girl was like a small furry rodent, frightened of her own shadow. He supposed he couldn't blame her, though. Not where his scarred and ugly face was concerned.

Upon arriving at the second floor he walked down the hall and transferred the tray to one hand so that he could rap on her ladyships' bedroom door.

"Come in," called the Betazoid. Llahir turned the knob and entered. The lady of the house lay neatly tucked into bed, covered by a luxurious down-filled coverlet and supported by at least six pillows under her head and limbs. An intravenous line fed fluids into her right arm. Damin and Raijiin sat on either side of her bed with intent expressions on their faces. To Llahir's secret pleasure, he could sense Raijiin's state of mind through their nascent connection. He could feel her active curiosity and her intense focus on the task she was performing, whatever it was. Both she and Damin looked up at his entrance, but neither showed surprise.

He approached the bed and set the tray on the bedside table beside Damin. Damin reached out and laid a hand on his forearm, an overly familiar gesture that Llahir normally would not have tolerated. What was even worse, the little Betazoid smiled flirtatiously up at him. Llahir blinked at him, taken aback. He glanced at Raijiin when he sensed her amusement. Playing the part of love interest to a male agent had not previously been in his job description, but there was a first time for everything. He gave a mental shrug and forced himself to be tolerant for Raijiin's sake. "I've brought food for you at the cook's request," he said to Damin.

"Why, thank you. That's so thoughtful of you!" gushed Damin. Llahir felt an odd sensation in his head. Silent words followed. "_Don't say anything aloud. This room is monitored and I'm not sure who's on the other end. It may just be her security system, but it's better to be safe."_

Llahir tipped his head and turned to Raijiin. "I'm sorry that I don't have anything for you to eat, Priestess, but I'm afraid I didn't realize you were up here. Cook and I will prepare your plomeek immediately." Raijiin stayed in character and merely inclined her head.

"Thank you, Horga'hn," she told him. Their newborn bond told him that at least she had the grace to feel a bit ashamed over not keeping him informed.

Llahir forced himself to smile at them both. "My pleasure. Any time." And then to Damin he said,"Why don't you taste it to see if it needs anything?" At the same time he focused his attention on a silent response. He really wasn't any good at mental communication. _"You both need t__o get out of here," _he finally managed. Llahir looked at Raijiin and flicked a glance at the door. He added an almost undetectable head tilt for good measure. With their new bond starting to develop, he couldn't be sure if he was reading amusement in her eyes or feeling it.

Damin lifted the lid from his plate, took up a fork, and tasted a small bite with the delicate manners of a debutante. His eyes closed in bliss as he chewed, and his free hand was back atop Llahir's again, patting affectionately. Llahir swallowed and stifled his annoyance. "Perfect. Positively delicious." At Llahir's glare he sighed and added silently. _"You can tell Sehl__ra everything is fine, but I'm not done here. This woman's got a dilithium mine of information in her head. You Vulcans are welcome to what's left when I'm finished__."_

Llahir smiled a thin smile. "So glad you're enjoying it. I'll be back up to take your tray." He had no trouble expressing himself this time. _"But Raijiin is coming with me. Now." _

Damin's flirtatious expression never wavered, but Llahir almost winced at the force of his answer. _"If this Romulan wakes up and manages to send for help we'll all be DEAD. Your precious little sweetling is helping me keep the murd__erous bitch unconscious while I search for useful information. Would you rather risk waking her?" _Then he batted his eyes and smiled.

Llahir gritted his teeth, pulled his hand away, and looked at Raijiin. He told her, "Your companion was requesting your presence, my lady. He seemed most adamant." His best efforts could not keep the irritation from his voice. Either his years among the Romulans had damaged his control beyond repair, or concern for his mate was destabilizing him to a dangerous degree. Raijiin met his gaze with doubt on her face. He held his ground. She exchanged a look with Damin. The little man shrugged slightly, as if to say he'd tried his best. She exhaled in resignation and stood up.

"There seems to be nothing more I can do here," she told Damin. "If her condition changes, summon me at once. Meanwhile, I shall attempt to convince the household staff to summon a Vulcan healer." She headed for the door with Llahir following close behind, radiating anger despite her bland expression.

They passed into the hallway and entered the stairwell. Instantly Raijiin slowed and barely touched the back of her hand to his. Her fury got through, along with her words._ "Llahir, you can't do this. I have a job to do. Go home."_

Llahir clenched his jaw. _"You have no idea what the Romulans are. Orions live in t__error of the Empire for good reason. Even Klingons do not provoke them. You must get out of here. Senek had no business bringing you into this."_

She hesitated a half-step. _"I can't leave even if I wanted to. You know that. I don't have the option."_

"_I wil__l hunt down the High Council one by one and gut them!"_ Her shock and fear recoiled through the bond, forcing him to turn inward and fight to regain control. _"I am sorry. I did not mean that."_

Raijiin closed her eyes and breathed deeply just once. He felt her fear evaporate as if it had never existed. Her calmness settled him, smoothing his anger until it smoldered rather than burned. She opened her eyes and watched him speculatively. _"Come and help me then. We found the access code to he__r secret files. You can stand watch while I scan them."_ He took a deep breath and nodded.

#

"She said hangar five, berth twelve, I think," said Jon. Hangars loomed twenty meters high above their heads on either side of the roadway. Risa City's spaceport did a lot of business, and visitors tended to stay a while, so most of the hangars were full. Repair teams rode from hangar to hangar in carts similar to the one Trip was driving now. Travis would have liked driving one, Trip reflected. They were very maneuverable. Too bad the helmsman was stuck back at Central Security Headquarters playing footsie with Director Hemlawn.

_Poor Travis_, he thought, shaking his head and chuckling, _forced to take one for the team_.

"What's so funny?" asked Jon. He sounded like he genuinely wanted to know. Trip smiled at him. Now that he was free of whatever residue Surak's katra had left in his head, Jonathan Archer seemed like a different person.

"Travis. You know she's going to hit on him mercilessly, don't you?"

Jon laughed. "And I'm supposed to do what? Feel sorry for him?" he protested. "One of us had to stay and be the liaison." He shrugged. "I was going to do it, but she obviously likes him better, so…" He grinned mischievously, looking just like a little boy up to no good. Jon seemed now like the same person that Trip had become friends with in the first place. The time frame didn't make a whole lot of sense to Trip, since Jon's "asshole period", a term Trip had begun to use privately to contrast Jon's "old" behavior with the way he was acting now, had begun long before he'd had his run-in with Old Long-Since-Dead-and-Logical. That Vulcan healer had done more than just remove Surak's left-overs. It had to have been the stress of command, or maybe Jon's need to prove himself to his dead father. Whatever it was, it didn't seem to be driving Jon anymore. He was more comfortable in his skin now, a better captain. A better friend, too.

"I've been meaning to tell you," Trip told him in a casual voice. "I've decided to stay on _Enterprise._" He pulled into the alley between hangars four and five. Jon said nothing. He just sat there in the seat next to him and looked at him with a funny expression on his face. Jon's silence surprised Trip. He'd expected some reaction, at least. Then he got a good look at the captain's face. Jon's eyes were suspiciously moist.

Jon cleared his throat. "I appreciate you giving me another chance, Trip," he said.

Fortunately for both of them, at that moment Jon's handheld communicator bleeped, or tweeted, or made whatever that funny sound was that Hoshi had programmed into the thing. Trip had to admit that it did catch his attention without being harsh to the ear.

"Archer here," answered the captain. Trip could hear Malcolm's reply.

"_Just letting you know we're in place, Captain. The house looks quiet for now. They've got excellent surveillance equipment and someone's managed to tap into the internal security system. Damin's definitely in the building. So is Senek, that Vulcan agent that Commander T__'Pol used to work with."_ He paused. _"And Raijiin, an__d the Andorian captain of Lerteiran, and I'm pretty sure there's another Vulcan in the kitchen."_

Jon and Trip exchanged a surprised look at that news. "All of them? Why?" Jon asked.

"_I wouldn't venture__ a guess based on what little information I've gathered so far, sir, but I'll keep you posted,"_ replied Malcolm. _"Reed out." _Jon closed his communicator with a resigned look on his face.

"I suppose we'll just have to ask Damin's friends about what he's been up to," he said. Trip turned the cart into hangar number five.

The building was huge. From inside it looked even bigger than it had outside. Twenty meters of open space to the ceiling overhead faded into a haze of moist air and diffuse lighting. The coated pavement stretched out ahead of them like a desert plain, disappearing into the illusion of infinity and distorting the apparent shape of things through tricks of perspective.

Trip caught sight of _Lerteiran _on the far end of the open hangar. It looked like a child's toy. He accelerated the cart and took aim down the center aisle, spinning past shuttles, orbital sleds, and small inter-planetary cargo haulers. The wind started to whistle past their ears and Jon grinned at him.

After several minutes _Lerteiran_ began to grow and take on detail. Trip could see a man in a green ship's coverall standing on a ladder making repairs to her hull. As they got closer, he recognized Daniel Johansen. T'Riss, the Vulcan girl who'd been assigned to _Lerteiran _as a disciplinary measure by her superiors, was hanging onto foot of the ladder watching Daniel as if she expected to be forced to catch him at any moment.

Trip raised a hand and waved, but neither of them noticed. Daniel had a welding hood on, so he had a good excuse. T'Riss, on the other hand, seemed oblivious for no obviously apparent reason to everything except the man at the top of the ladder. Trip smiled. It was nice to see that he and T'Pol weren't the only ones who made a good team. As they closed in he got a better look at the ladder and the hull it was attached to. Suddenly the way T'Riss was hovering didn't look quite so illogical. That old ship needed a facelift. Badly.

#

There were times, like now, when Namala truly regretted that she'd chosen to wear her hair long. She felt beset and beleaguered, and really wanted to rake a hand across her scalp the way men could, but with everything going on in the house she had no time to brush and re-braid. It just wouldn't do to walk around looking like she had a bird's nest on her head.

After watching the doctor drive away in exasperation and escorting their handsome new butler to his quarters to change into livery, she turned to climb the stairs to Lady Arithnae's chambers. Perhaps that Vulcan priestess had been able to find out what was wrong with her. Although the more she considered it, the less she liked the whole situation. Regardless of the shape of the woman's ears, Namala was reasonably certain that Arithnae was no Vulcan. The doctor had given no sign that he suspected foul play, yet there was no denying that both Vulcans had been with her when Arithnae collapsed.

Namala was half relieved and half suspicious to find Damin alone with her ladyship. "How is she?"

The lovely young man smiled wanly up at her, plainly worried sick. "She's resting, but not comfortably, I fear. We really need to get a qualified healer of some kind in here. That doctor was useless."

"You may be right," Namala sighed. "Where did the priestess go?"

"She got called away," he told her. "I think her priest wanted her. I'm not certain." Namala patted him reassuringly on the shoulder and went in search of the woman. As it turned out, she wasn't with the priest, who told Namala that he thought her quarry might have stepped outside for a brief moment of fresh air and solitude. Namala felt an unexpected pang of sympathy. Maybe the priestess had the right idea after all. It seemed a marvelous plan to go somewhere, sit down, and think things through. The library was probably empty, and it was as likely to be quiet as anywhere in the house right now. With luck she might get fifteen minutes of undisturbed time to get her head straight. A cup of tea would be nice, but that was probably too much to hope for.

The leather covered lounge in the most private corner of the library had never looked so inviting. Namala leaned back and closed her eyes briefly, trying to settle her mind. Eventually errant thoughts of that cup of tea came drifting back. Jemma always had a kettle on. Why not? She sat up and swung her legs around. Then she stopped and stared. There was a spot of grease on the woodwork next to her ladyship's office door. Nothing blatant, just a thin swipe on the corner of the doorframe, as if it had been applied in passing.

She knew for a fact that the room had been thoroughly cleaned to her most exacting standards the night before. Where had it come from? Her ladyship had not taken time to visit her office before collapsing. Had one of the visitors put it there?

She stood up and walked over, then touched the spot and sniffed her fingers. It smelled like salt-meat fat, Jemma's favorite cooking grease. Jemma would never dare to enter her ladyship's office, but they had just hired that odd new kitchen helper. Perhaps he was unaware that the office was strictly off limits. Or maybe someone else was in there—someone not as harmless as a kitchen helper.

Namala tip-toed back to the library desk and input her personal code. The secret compartment opened and revealed a disruptor pistol. She held it ready, then pressed her thumb against the door. Nothing happened; the door was already unlocked. She steeled herself, grasped the door handle, and suddenly shoved the door aside, bringing the disruptor to bear on anything that might appear in the doorway.

The priestess and the new hire, Horga'hn, stood side by side with their hands folded primly at their waists, staring at her with expressions of pure innocence. "Explain yourselves," she demanded, training the disruptor on Horga'hn's chest. He gave a nervous grimace, but said nothing.

"Your weapon is unnecessary," the priestess assured her. "We required privacy for an important discussion."

"You needed privacy badly enough to break into locked room for it?" Namala inquired in disbelief.

"The door was not locked." Horga'hn protested, and then flinched when she glared at him. "It's true, Mistress. Please," he pleaded. "Point that thing in another direction, I beg you. Weapons terrify me." He was so obviously frightened that her heart softened and she lowered the disruptor. "Mistress Namala," Horga'hn said in a timid voice, "Lady R'Jin asked me in here because she has made a most upsetting discovery. While attempting to ease Lady Arithnae's distress with a mind meld, the priestess discovered that she is wanted on Vulcan for involvement in...criminal activities..." The last part came out in barely more than a whisper.

Namala snapped a look at the priestess, who inclined her head with a solemn expression. "I deeply regret to confirm this. Assistant Horga'hn was present when I made the discovery. He seemed to be the only staff member without pressing duties, and so I decided to speak privately with him in order to obtain his advice on the most logical way to deal with this information."

"Do you have any real evidence of this other than your unsupported word?" Namala demanded.

"I give you my personal assurances," the priestess said with dignity. Namala barely held back a snort. She also raised the disruptor again.

"I 'deeply regret' that the personal assurances of a Vulcan are not legal tender on Risa," she said coldly. "In fact, given the past history of your High Command, it rather tends in the opposite direction. Even if you did have some physical evidence, the fact that a Vulcan produced it would place its credibility in doubt. Our people have considered severing ties with your planet more than once in recent years due to your habit of violating agreements on a whim." Both Horga'hn and the priestess winced. Namala felt a twinge of remorse for her harsh words, but her disruptor didn't waver.

"Our government has undergone a recent purge of undesirable elements," R'Jin conceded with a nod. "But our people have rediscovered our ethical foundation, and we are committed to rebuilding our reputation." Her expression seemed unusually pleading and sincere for a Vulcan. "I implore you to believe me. Surely you have seen enough to realize that your mistress does not behave like a normal Vulcan? Yet even the doctor who was here acknowledged that she is, in fact, a member of our species." Namala wavered. Arithnae wasn't a typical Vulcan; that was beyond argument. If she was a wanted felon on Vulcan it would be best to let them deal with her. But there was such a thing as loyalty to one's employer. She couldn't just…

"I have a suggestion, Mistress," Horga'hn offered. "Perhaps you could summon a Vulcan healer from the embassy. Her ladyship is in need of attention in any case. A Vulcan healer would have access to embassy records and could confirm her identity without difficulty."

Namala suddenly let out a sigh of relief and smiled. "Of course. Why didn't I think of that? Horga'hn, you just earned a raise. I'll call the embassy immediately. In the meanwhile, I suggest we vacate this office. I'll assign someone to stand guard until the lock can be repaired." She eyed R'Jin. "Since _someone_ took the trouble to break in, it would be a good idea. Don't you agree, Priestess?"

"Absolutely. That would be a logical course of action," R'Jin told her coolly. The pair passed by her on their way out, with Namala stepping well back to give them plenty of room. R'Jin hesitated for an instant, as if she wanted to approach Namala, but Horga'hn touched her arm with two fingers and she appeared to change her mind. The disruptor pointed in her general direction might also have had something to do with it.

#

Trip followed the captain into a broad park across the boulevard from Woodhaven house. The pair wove their way between and around a series of hedges, down a meticulously trimmed walkway, and past a moderately obscene fountain to a pair of benches under a lovely shade tree.

"Hard at work, I see," Trip grinned at the sight of Malcolm leaning back with a moisture-beaded glass in one hand and one of the local woven straw sun hats tilted forward to shade his face. He was a little overdressed for a Risan in his standard issue Starfleet coverall, but otherwise seemed to be doing his best to blend in. "Must be terrible."

"You have no idea, my friend," Malcolm murmured. He took a sip. "In the past hour there's been a bloody cyclone of activity around that place. I have a bet going with my Risan colleagues as to which is more likely to happen first, a Vulcan invasion or a raid by that Betazoid syndicate." Trip eyed his surroundings. To his right were a couple of old guys at a table under a tree. They were playing something that looked like Vulcan 3-D chess and were thankfully wearing more clothing than the younger citizens seemed to favor. There were also a few minimally dressed joggers on the walkway. None of them looked like police officers, but most of them probably were. Trip joined Malcolm on the bench.

"Where's your money riding?" Jon sat down on the opposite bench, extended his legs, and crossed his ankles, looking up into the leaves as if he were at peace with the universe.

"My money is on the Vulcans," Malcolm told them. "Agent Senek and Raijiin are both in there, along with that Llahir devil. They already have an advance beachhead established. The Betazoids are struggling along with only one frilly little man in place. They're badly outclassed."

"Well, here comes someone else," Trip announced. "Maybe you'll find out."

An unmarked ground car pulled up to the main entrance. A servant in house livery opened the passenger door to allow a tall grey-haired Vulcan wearing a healer's robe to climb out. "Hah," Malcolm said. "I knew it."

"One geezer in a green cape hardly counts as an invasion, Malcolm," Jon objected. "You have to be realistic here."

"Never underestimate the advantage of having an established force already in position," Malcolm maintained. "The Vulcans own the place now. Those Risans owe me a keg of free beer."

"I presume you were planning to share?" Trip inquired.

"Get your own Risans to swindle," Malcolm huffed. "Did you sit here during the heat of the day with nothing but fruit juice to quench your thirst, I ask? No, you did not."

"Heads up," Captain Archer snapped. The three of them turned to watch a stretcher being carried out.

Malcolm casually reached up to adjust the brim of his hat. In a second he said, "It's Arithnae. Unconscious, it seems."

The stretcher was loaded gently into the back of the ground car while the old healer doddered his way to a seat. In a moment both Senek and Raijiin came out and climbed in after him. The ground car rolled smoothly away.

"That leaves Damin, Llahir, and Jenrali. I wonder what they're up to?" Trip speculated.

"Will you look at that?" Malcolm wasn't facing the house. For some reason he was eyeing a corner of the park not far from their position. "Captain, Commander, perhaps you might join me for a stroll?"

A little over a hundred meters along the path, Malcolm suddenly stopped and faced a bush. "I like to talk for a moment, if you don't mind." Trip looked closely, and then felt like smacking himself. Once he started paying attention, the outline of a humanoid figure was plain to see against the branches. The figure stirred and revealed itself to be Sehlra. She was wearing a veil, but he recognized her.

"Hi, Sehlra," Trip offered a friendly smile. "Nice day for a walk. Don't suppose you could put us in touch with Damin, could you? We got word he was in that house over there and we want to hire him for a quick job. No travel involved."

She flipped up her veil to show her tight lipped cerulean face. "I have no idea where Damin is. I was waiting for Jenrali." She paused. Trip got the distinct impression that she was trying to come up with a believable lie. "He's…um… courting… the head housekeeper in that big house across the street." Trip gave her a skeptical look.

"You sunburn pretty badly?" Jon asked in an innocent voice. "I mean, badly enough for you to need a veil? I seem to remember from the last time I was there that the solar radiation on Andoria is pretty fierce."

"I got tired of being stared at, all right?" she growled. "Leave me alone." Sehlra turned and stomped off; leaving the three Humans trading puzzled glances.

#

Sehlra tucked her veil into the right hip pocket of her faded green coverall and walked down the boulevard along the fence line bordering the Woodhaven property. Either she was getting too old for this or that Human security officer was more astute than he seemed. Either way, the situation was annoying. Twenty years ago she would have been virtually invisible in that hedge. Of course twenty years ago she would have been hiding under a proper layer of snow with proper equipment. Hiding in snow was considerably easier than trying to blend in with all this Mother-cursed greenery.

She circled around to the back garden entrance, which was a wooden gate in the twice-head-high brick wall overgrown with vines and locked with a rusty padlock. Upon close inspection, barely visible at the top of the ancient gate only because she knew it was there, was a not-so-ancient motion sensor of Romulan design. She kept her distance and tapped the comm in her left ear.

"L2 to L1... seeking clearance for rear entry," she murmured. Over a minute passed before Jenrali's voice whispered in her ear.

"_Negative, L2. Situation is under control. Do not enter." _

Sehlra closed her eyes and exhaled in frustration. She tapped her comm again. "That's not your call, L1," she growled between clenched teeth. "Is it clear or not?"

"_Not clear__. Local law enforcement is on the way__.__ Stay out." _He paused, obviously waiting for her acknowledgement. When none was forthcoming, he finally gave in._ "The sensors are deactivated," _conceded Jenrali in a resigned tone. Sehlra reached up to her comm again. _"But if you blow our cover I'll…" _One tap silenced Jenrali's voice mid-threat.

Sehlra pulled a Starfleet issue conceal-carry laser pistol from her left hip pocket, set it on continuous beam, and proceeded to melt through the rusted padlock. The beam burned nicely through the weathered wood as well, creating a hand-sized hole for her to pull the door open. She deactivated the beam and waited for the hole to cool while she inspected the palm-sized little weapon with a fond smile. The tiny but deadly thing had been a gift from Daniel for her birthday five years ago. She had no idea where he'd gotten it and hadn't asked. She'd never expected to use it for breaking and entering, but Damin was trapped in that house. Those thrice-cursed Darkblades had another thing coming if they expected her to just sit around and wait for some Romulan spy to take revenge on Damin for what he'd obviously done to the erstwhile lady of the house. For all Sehlra knew that Namala woman might very well be one of them.

Sehlra reached through the ash-rimmed hole in the garden door and yanked. Hinges creaked and vines popped, but she managed to get it open far enough to wriggle her way through. Then she dropped down and belly-crawled through the overgrown garden. Whoever tended it believed in letting nature take its course; that was certain After an unfortunate meter or so she began actively avoiding the rose bushes to save her skin, taking a circuitous route to the rear windows of the library, through which she could see several figures. Once she'd curled up beneath the windowsill of the central window with her back to the brick wall, she reached up and tapped her comm. Jenrali's microphone was still functional.

"…called this staff meeting to clear the air and put certain rumors to rest," said a female voice. Sehlra couldn't see who was speaking but she recognized the voice as belonging to the woman who'd spoken with Jenrali earlier, the housekeeper called Namala. "The local police have asked for our cooperation. In a minute an officer will come in to interview each of you. Please be honest. Do not be overly concerned about salvaging what remains of Lady Arithnae's reputation. Woodhaven House was here before she purchased it and will be here long after she pays for her crimes." Dead silence followed her statement. Sehlra grinned. The girl came straight to the point. It was an admirable trait.

"Now that the Lady Arithnae is… incapacitated," Namala went on,"I anticipate that this estate will soon be sold, and I cannot promise that the new owner will choose to keep all of you on." Sehlra heard murmurs of dismay in the background. "I fully understand your concern, and I will be happy to write letters of recommendation for any of you who choose to seek alternate employment, but a house the size of Woodhaven will always be in need of experienced staff. If you will be patient with me I will do my best to convince our new employer that all of you are the very best candidates for your jobs."

A chorus of "Thank you, Mistress" followed, in several parts. Sehlra raised a brow, impressed. In just a few seconds this Namala woman had managed to turn a room full of panicked domestic workers into a family, drawn together by unfortunate circumstances into a cohesive unit. Sehlra had no objective proof, but her gut told her that the Risan was no Romulan agent.

"Don't move! Risa City Police!" The voice was stern, male, authoritative, and definitely wasn't coming from her earpiece. Sehlra could see the entire back garden from her vantage point. There was no one there, so she looked up. A police officer in riot gear was looking down on her over the edge of the roof. He looked like a teenager. She looked down at her chest to find a tiny red dot glowing in its center, his rifle's laser sight. Sehlra exhaled, closed her eyes, rested her head in resignation on the brick wall behind her and raised both hands over her head.

_Ambushed by an infant, _she thought in disgust. _By the Mother's ample ass-cheeks, I'm getting old._

#

"_I was merely inquiring about the __status of your away mission, Captain," _said T'Pol in a bland tone of voice. _"Ensign Mayweather's reports have not been very informative. Apparently, he is currently at lunch with the Risan Security Director and is unavailable for comment."_ Trip bit his lip to keep from laughing. T'Pol was too far away for him to sense what she was feeling, and yet for some reason he just knew that she was practically dying of curiosity.

"Everything's under control, Commander," the captain told her. "We've found Damin and we're about to make our recruitment pitch. Cross your fingers. Archer out."

Trip chuckled. "'Cross your fingers'? You just love to dig at her, don't you?" Jon grinned.

The two men followed Malcolm and his Risan cohorts across the street. The Darkblades had given the local police full cooperation, with the understanding that their agent was to be released after questioning and his cover story accepted at face value. This was apparently fine by the Risans, since Damin hadn't broken any laws, or at least none that they knew of.

Malcolm hung back from the group of Risans to join his superior officers at the front gate. "They'd like us to stay here for safety purposes," he told them. "One of their blokes captured an armed intruder a few minutes ago. They're interrogating her now." He paused with a strangely amused expression on his face. "She's Andorian."

"No! She wouldn't be so stupid!" protested Trip.

"Apparently she would," Malcolm replied, and tipped his head toward the front entrance, where a cuffed and embarrassed-looking Sehlra was being escorted by two armed police officers into the house.

"I'm sure she was just trying to help Damin," said Trip. "We should get in there and be character witnesses or something." He started forward and kept walking. By the time he'd gotten to the front door he was flanked by Jon and Malcolm. The police officers guarding the front stoop made no attempt to stop them as they walked right in.

The entrance hall ceiling was two stories tall. An elaborate crystal chandelier hung suspended, illuminating a marble parquet floor and a huge wooden staircase which led up to the second floor balcony. The graceful curve of the staircase's double railing met the railing of the balcony, which extended the entire width of the entrance hall.

"It's like Tara, only bigger," whispered Trip, gazing around him in awe. Malcolm gave him a puzzled look.

"The plantation house from 'Gone With the Wind'," clarified Jon. Based on Malcolm's expression his explanation wasn't much help.

"It's a very old movie. Not a horror flick," Trip explained.

Malcolm's expression suddenly cleared. "I've seen old images of similar architecture," he said. "Especially in texts referencing the South during the U.S. Civil War."

"Exactly," Trip agreed.

"May I help you, sirs?" asked a familiar voice. Trip turned, opened his mouth, and then immediately closed it again. It was a close call, but he managed not to blow Jenrali's cover. The old Andorian looked amused. He tipped his head, the model of a discrete upper servant, neither too friendly nor particularly servile.

"We've been told Damin is here," said Jon in a dry tone. "Is he available?" He obviously recognized Jenrali, despite the fact that he'd met him only a couple of times to Trip's knowledge, and that over the comm screen.

"Please follow me. He is in the library with the rest of the staff," Jenrali told them, and led the way down the hall. They entered a large sunny room filled with floor to ceiling bookshelves. The shelves were packed with ancient-looking leather bound books. The room was illuminated by two large picture windows looking out onto the lush back garden. Three Risan police officers in typically skimpy uniforms were clustered around a cuffed and rather shamefaced looking Sehlra, who was seated in an over-padded chair in one corner of the room. On the other side of the room were about a half-dozen people wearing matching maroon blazers and tan slacks. They sat together in a worried looking group on wooden chairs that looked like they'd been pulled from a dining room table. Damin was in the center of the group, deep in conversation with the scar-faced Vulcan, Llahir. As Trip watched, a police officer exited an adjoining office with a teenaged boy in tow. He deposited the young man with the group and exchanged him for a portly middle aged woman who wore an apron over her uniform. He took her back into the office with him and closed the door. A slim middle-aged blonde with her hair in a bun detached herself from the group and walked across the room to meet the three _Enterprise _officers. She had an air of authority about her. When she was halfway across the room one of the police officers who had been interrogating Sehlra intercepted her. Trip couldn't help but overhear their conversation.

"Excuse me, madam, but the intruder claims that she was just trying to see you about an employment issue. She says that she's changed her mind about an employment contract and had come to discuss it with you when she saw police officers everywhere, became alarmed, and concealed herself." His tone was skeptical. "Do you know her? Did you sign an employment contract with her?"

The Risan woman looked startled. She turned to inspect Sehlra from across the room. After a moment she said slowly, "I suppose she might be the woman I hired Damin from the other day. It's difficult to tell. I saw her only once and from a distance, but the woman who held his contract before I hired him was an Andorian military officer." She pointed in the direction of the group of house staff milling around on the other side of the room. "See that young man with the black curls over there? The pretty one? Ask him. He'll be able to vouch for her if that's who she is. If he thinks she's trustworthy then I won't press charges for trespassing." Her tone was brisk. The officer nodded and departed. Then she turned her attention directly on the trio from _Enterprise, _moving on to the next task at hand.

"May I help you, gentlemen?"

Jon stepped up and extended a hand. The Risan tilted her head at him, assessing him with cool blue eyes, and extended her hand in a firm grip.

"Captain Jonathan Archer, ma'am, _U.S.S. Enterprise,_" he said with a broad smile. "We're looking for one of your employees. His name is Damin." He tipped his chin toward the group at the other end of the room. "I see he's here. We'd just like a few words with him if you don't mind. It's about an employment opportunity."

"I am Namala, the steward of Woodhaven House," replied the woman, releasing Jon's hand after a single squeeze. She didn't return his smile. In fact, she looked more than a little annoyed as she crossed both arms over her chest. "Damin is in my employ and under my protection." Behind her Trip saw Damin take notice of them from where he stood in conversation with the police officer. The Betazoid turned from the officer and began walking rapidly toward them. He made eye contact with Trip and shook his head slightly, as if in warning. Trip wasn't sure what he was trying to tell them, but he suspected that the telepath was concerned that they were about to blow his cover sky-high.

Namala was still talking. "We've all had a difficult day, and we're all exhausted. Would you mind telling me what's so important that it can't wait until the police are finished here and my staff has had the opportunity to rest?" Trip bit his lip to keep from laughing at Jon's expression. Two good looking women in one day had failed to fall for his best smile. It was enough to make a guy doubt himself.

"Ah…well…" Jon fumbled awkwardly. Fortunately, at that moment Damin arrived.

"It's all right, Mistress," he said in a quiet, gentle voice. "Thank you for your concern, but I will speak to them if you will permit it. They are… old friends." He smiled at her and batted his long lashed eyes. Namala's expression was skeptical. She didn't look like she was buying the "old friends" line, but she stepped away, shaking her head and looking amused. There was no telling what she thought Damin's relationship might be to them, but given Damin's cover story her assumption probably didn't bear repeating in polite company.

Damin turned his thousand-watt smile on the three of them. Trip noticed that it didn't quite reach his eyes. To Trip's discomfort, Damin reached out and linked arms with him. Jon got the other arm whether he wanted it or not. "Come this way, gentlemen," he said softly with his smile fixed on his face. They exited the library as a group with a red-faced Malcolm trailing behind.

#

"Would you like me to try to contact the landing party again, Commander?" Ensign Sato's words jarred T'Pol back to the present. The young comm officer's diligence was a fortunate thing. T'Pol was dismayed by how easily distracted she'd become in the weeks since her husband's announcement that he was contemplating leaving _Enterprise. _She had told him the truth when she'd reassured him that she would join him without hesitation if he chose to leave, but that didn't mean she looked forward to the prospect. Trying to envision a future without _Enterprise _and the annoying but stimulating group of humans that made up her crew was proving to be a daunting task. She'd grown accustomed to them, and was forced to admit that she would certainly miss them. Trip would probably say that she'd grown fond of them, but he was prone to exaggeration.

"Perhaps you should," was T'Pol's diffident reply as she straightened her posture in the command chair, stretching slightly and surreptitiously. "How long has it been since our last communication?" Hoshi gave her a surprised look before responding.

"Two hours and fifteen minutes, Commander… and he's supposed to check in every two hours," said the girl, looking concerned. T'Pol raised a brow. She had not previously noted a tendency on Ensign Sato's part to hover protectively over any particular member of the crew, or at least not until very recently, but the young woman's use of the word "he" was telling. There could only be one "he" to which she would refer in this way, and it wasn't the captain, the helmsman, or the chief engineer. That insight was not one that T'Pol would ever reveal to the girl where any other member of the crew might overhear. Each of them had their secrets to protect.

She inclined her head. "Go ahead, Ensign."

"_Enterprise_ to landing party. What is your status, sir?" Hoshi's tone was all business now. She activated the bridge speakers and the captain's voice filled the room.

"_Archer here. Our mission was successful. We'll be bringing Damin aboard within the hour."_ There was a murmur of voices over the comlink just below the level of audibility. After several seconds the captain continued. _"Put me through to the ready room, Hoshi. I need to speak with Commander T'Pol in private."_ Hoshi exchanged a surprised look with T'Pol, who nodded and rose to take the call.

"Yes,sir. I'm transferring it now," said Hoshi behind her as the door to the ready room swished closed, isolating T'Pol from the bridge crew and their eager ears. T'Pol took a seat at the table near the computer console and activated the audio.

"T'Pol here, Captain." She tried not to feel concerned over why the captain felt the need to speak with her in private, but it had been some time since she and Trip had been so far apart. Certainly they had not been so physically distant from each other since their marriage ceremony. Sensing so little of her husband's emotional state was unsettling. She felt certain that she would know if something was seriously wrong with him, but the captain's secrecy was disconcerting, even so.

"_I've been notified of a potential threat to the ship," _began Captain Archer. _"I'd rather not__ alert the entire crew and risk causing a panic until the threat's been confirmed, but Damin has informed me that the Romulans intend to dispose of our prisoner and they've already dispatched an agent to do the job. I don't know whether he or she is aboard yet. Damin wasn't able to determine that from his source. But it could be anyone who has come aboard since we captured the prisoner."_

"The Vulcans," replied T'Pol, suppressing her sudden anger at the idea of a Romulan assassin masquerading as one of her own people. "Do you wish me to interrogate them?" She barely heard Trip's voice in the background protesting vehemently.

"_It would be much safer if you waited until the rest of us were aboard so that Damin can interrogate them_," said Archer, "_since one of them is a telepath."_

"That is true," conceded T'Pol.

"_We'll be back in less than an hour. Keep the Vulcans secure. Post extra guards," _ordered Archer.

"Yes, Captain."

"_Archer out."_

T'Pol remained seated, contemplating her options. The captain would want to ascertain the safety of the ship before turning his attention to interrogating the Romulan prisoner. He would therefore send Damin to interrogate the Vulcan security officers as soon as he returned. If the Vulcan telepath proved to be a Romulan assassin and he possessed greater skill than the little Betazoid, then they might lose Damin, and thus forfeit the chance to glean valuable information from the unconscious Romulan who was still in confinement in sickbay.

Her other choice was to interrogate the Vulcans herself, relieving Damin of the dangerous task and ensuring that he would then be alive, hopefully able to provide the Humans with valuable tactical information—and incidentally able to reveal to all interested parties her people's most closely kept secret.

The captain would not be very pleased with her. Neither would Trip, she was certain of that. But she hadn't actually been ordered _not _to interrogate the prisoners. And if she could confirm that neither of the Vulcans were Romulan agents, their aid could be invaluable in capturing the spy. The decision took only a few seconds. _I am a Starfleet officer, _she told herself grimly.

#

"No, Senek," Raijiin snapped. "The bench goes over there. You can't put it in the center; the priest will be standing there. Llahir, come and help me with this gong, or chime, or whatever it is."

Senek obediently transferred the stone bench to its designated location. Raijiin had become de-facto supervisor for the project since neither of the men had any practice at decorating nor any real interest in wedding preparations. Under her direction the sunlit courtyard at the rear of the temple was taking shape nicely as far as Senek was concerned. Raijiin seemed convinced that it was insufferably inadequate.

"Is _this_ the venue in which the ceremony will be conducted?" The distaste in Lady T'Rel's voice was profound. She stepped through the doorway from the temple and eyed the preparations with an expression of pain.

"Lady T'Rel." Raijiin's breath left her in a gush. "Thank-, I mean, it is most agreeable to see you. As you can see, preparations are barely begun and these men are helpless. They are quite willing to carry and place under direction, but they lack the slightest understanding of what is appropriate."

"Typical," T'Rel said tiredly. "The priest is due to arrive at sundown and the wall hangings are not even on display yet."

Raijiin gritted her teeth. "I acknowledge this. Your assistance would be helpful."

T'Rel gestured acceptance. "Where are the decorations stored? I will undertake responsibility for the display items, if you and your male assistants can complete the rest of the preparations."

"Senek-will-show-you-where-to-find-them," Raijiin spit out the words like a pulse rifle. She shot him a look, accompanied by a telepathic jab as sharp as a salad fork in the ear. He jumped and glared before turning to T'Rel.

Senek conducted T'Rel to the main storage area. He watched mystified while she dove into various containers, digging and sorting cloths, ornaments, garlands, wind chimes, and esoteric objects that not even an agent of Senek's experience could identify. She laid aside a vast and impressive stack in accordance with some incomprehensible standard and told him to bring them. He scooped up the debris without a word and marched behind her as if he were back in basic training.

#

_Enterprise's _second in command, Commander T'Pol, entered the cabin that Solis had been sharing with Jowan for the past subjectively interminable three and one quarter days. The senior Vulcan security officer was forced to admit that it came as a relief, if only because it meant an end to the monotony. Starfleet officer the woman might be, but at least she was interesting, not to mention esthetically pleasing to look at.

He caught a glimpse of one of the security guards stationed outside the door before it closed behind her. Surprisingly, _Enterprise's _first officer chose not to bring either of them into the room with her. Jowan sat up on the bunk where he'd been resting and swung his legs over the edge, staring intensely at T'Pol from beneath his disturbingly primitive unibrow.

The casual contact Solis had previously experienced with Jowan during the course of his dutieshad not prepared Solis for prolonged contact with him. He'd noticed from the first that there was an air of brooding menace about the man which was only made worse by his brutish looks, but it was highly illogical to judge an individual by his appearance. After over three days alone with Jowan in peace and solitude, Solis had nearly convinced himself that he was imagining things and that the man's size and unusual appearance were influencing his opinion of him. But then he caught sight of the expression on Jowan's face. A chill went up his spine at the flash of hatred in Jowan's eyes before the big man dropped his gaze and once again pulled on his mask of cool logic. Solis turned back to T'Pol and rose from his chair to face her.

"It is agreeable to see you again, Commander," he told her quite sincerely. T'Pol raised a skeptical brow.

"Somehow I doubt that is the case, Centurion," replied T'Pol, "But I am willing to overlook your insincerity in exchange for information. I want to know everything you know about the Romulan prisoner."

Solis raised a brow back at her. "We have discussed this matter before, Commander."

"Indeed," she replied in a cool tone. "The situation has changed. Starfleet has hired a powerful telepath to probe her. If you tell the truth now you may be able to avoid prosecution when the truth comes out."

T'Pol's gaze flickered beyond him, presumably to Jowan, although Solis couldn't see the man from where he stood. Her eyes widened slightly. Solis turned. Jowan was staring at her again with a look of burning anger that had no business being on a Vulcan face. Solis cleared his throat and signed peremptorily with one hand while fixing his gaze on his subordinate.

_Control yourself!_

He stared Jowan down. The big man's lack of control reflected badly on both Space Fleet Security and the Security Directorate. Solis couldn't help his annoyed reaction. Jowan's gaze flickered to Solis's hand and then down at the floor again, his expression that of a petulant child. What was wrong with the man?

"By the look on your colleague's face, I deduce that my original conclusion was, in fact, correct. You are concealing information in violation of the agreement that you made when you came aboard." T'Pol continued in a dry voice. Solis turned back to her. He studied her face. She seemed calm and determined, but there was a trace of something else. Calculation, perhaps? "His overly dramatic response only proves that he is, in fact, as stupid as he looks. Particularly since we have received information confirming that one of you is a Romulan agent."

Behind him, Jowan's roar of rage drowned out any response he might have made. The crewman launched himself at her, his ham-sized hands closing around her throat. Solis immediately jumped on Jowan's back, trying to get a purchase on his non-existent neck for a nerve pinch. Jowan simply raised his bulky shoulders up to his ears, released T'Pol with one hand, and used his free hand to backhand Solis across the room. The lights went out.

#

"Thank you so much, Director Hemlawn," beamed Jon, pumping the woman's hand enthusiastically. "We couldn't have done it without you. I just wish we could have been more helpful to you with your investigation." The away party plus Damin stood on the roof of the Central Security Headquarters beside the shuttlecraft.

The underdressed blonde tipped her head at him with a cool smile. "You are most welcome, Captain. The Vulcan authorities were reportedly 'gratified' to have our assistance with bringing a wanted criminal to justice. They weren't very forthcoming about precisely what crimes she's being accused of, but our investigation indicates a clear connection between several patrons of her illegal import/export business and our mistreated sex workers. We have some excellent leads. The Darkblades have also provided us with some useful information in that regard thanks to the cooperative agreement we've reached." She tipped her head at the curly-headed telepath, who looked almost masculine for a change dressed in a maroon jacket and tan slacks with his hair braided in a tail down his back. He acknowledged her with a nod and a smile but did not offer to shake hands.

As soon as Jon released her hand, Director Hemlawn stepped up to Travis, tucked her fingers into the crook of his arm, and smiled up at the young helmsman. Travis smiled back, a bit shyly Trip thought, but certainly not reluctantly. After a second or two she raised a brow at him expectantly. Only then did he seem to realize that everyone was waiting for him to say something. He cleared his throat, looking self-conscious.

"Ah, Captain? Lay…I mean… Director Hemlawn has invited me to stay for dinner. Do you need me to… that is, may I have your permission to…"

Trip squared his shoulders, clamped both hands together behind his back, and bit his tongue to keep from laughing.

"Yes, Ensign. I'm perfectly capable of piloting the shuttlecraft back to _Enterprise,_" interrupted the captain, sounding amused. "You are as of this moment officially on leave."

Travis grinned. "Thank you, sir!"

Trip exchanged a look with Malcolm, who looked like he was about to bust. Sure enough, as soon as the shuttle doors sealed shut the Brit voiced a protest. "Does anyone else find it strange that the junior-most officer is the one that gets the girl?"

"She must like the strong silent type," joked Trip from the back seat, where he sat next to Damin.

Jon laughed. "Don't worry, Lieutenant," he told Malcolm as he ran through the flight check. "You'll get your chance. As soon as we deal with the current situation I'll be granting the crew three days leave."

Malcolm looked dubious. "I'm not certain I want to try it again, Captain. Leave on Risa didn't go so well for me the last time." Trip snickered. Malcolm shot him an aggravated look over his shoulder.

As the shuttle reached low planetary orbit Trip began to sense T'Pol, now within only a few hundred kilometers back on _Enterprise_. He closed his eyes and smiled. It had been less than a day, yet still too long without the sense of her, warm and familiar in his head. She was concentrating on something, intense and focused. _Must be working, _he thought, and remained at a distance, not wanting to distract her from whatever she was doing. He opened his eyes and caught Damin looking at him with an oddly wistful expression on his face. The telepath looked away quickly, and Trip ignored him. It was a little creepy sitting right next to the guy when he knew Damin could read his mind. He tried to think of something else.

Sehlra's strange behavior that afternoon came to mind. Trip didn't know her all that well, but the level-headed Andorian didn't strike him as the type who typically pulled stupid stunts like the one she'd pulled at Woodhaven House. The Risan cops might have killed her. What could possibly have motivated her to risk her life like that?

"I wasn't reading you, you know." Damin's voice was soft; his long-lashed pupil-less black eyes were sincere. Trip gave him a skeptical look. "You were sending… very loudly, as a matter of fact," Damin clarified. He smiled an eerily feminine smile. "I thought Human males usually chose younger females." He shrugged. "I generally prefer a more experienced woman, of course, but I didn't realize we had similar interests."

Trip studied the telepath for a second or two, and something clicked. He shook his head and grinned wryly. Damin had strange taste in women—and selective blindness, evidently—if he was comparing T'Pol to a grizzled Andorian war veteran.

"It was you Sehlra was trying to rescue back there…the reason she almost got herself killed," he said. Damin's eyes narrowed.

"What makes you think that?" he asked. His nonchalance would have been believable had Trip not already figured everything out.

"She'd only do something that stupid for someone she really cared about," Trip replied. "Daniel wasn't around, she knows very well that Jenrali can take care of himself, and she doesn't give a rat's ass about Raijiin or the Vulcans. That leaves you."

Damin studied Trip, revealing nothing with his expression. "I fail to see why Sehlra's personal life is any of your concern."

Trip smiled and shrugged. "It's not," he told the little telepath in a casual tone. "But I just thought I'd give you a heads up. Daniel's a friend of mine. He cares a lot about Sehlra…just as much as if she were his own mother, from what I've seen…and we Humans can get pretty pissed off if someone hurts our mamas."

Damin looked surprised. He nodded slowly, pursing his lips. "Duly noted…but I have no intention of allowing Sehlra to be hurt…by myself or by anyone else." His tone was matter-of-fact. Oddly enough, Trip believed him.

"Good enough, then," Trip replied. He met the telepath's level gaze, wondering about the Betazoid's motivation. Could he honestly be attracted to a woman who looked old enough to be his mother?

_If T'Pol were Human she'd be old enough to be __**my**__ mother, _his conscience reminded him. _If she'd looked her age in Human years when we first met would I have given her a second glance?_

If he was going to be totally honest with himself, he knew that had she been wrinkled and grey-haired he would have run in the opposite direction as fast and as far as possible when she dropped that robe. But he hadn't been raised on Betazed where such pairings were the norm.

"Is it true that Betazoid men usually stay at home to raise the children while the women run the…" he began, and then was abruptly unable to speak. He raised both hands to his throat, struggling for air. It felt like someone was choking him. His hearing was muffled, his attention focused on his inability to draw his next breath. Distantly, Trip heard the captain on the comm getting clearance to enter the shuttle bay. Damin lunged forward, looking concerned. He placed a hand on Trip's shoulder. For a moment Trip wondered if the telepath was somehow the source of his trouble; but then he recognized the desperation in his head. It wasn't his—or at least not entirely.

"T'Pol!" Trip gasped.

#

The impact of the older Vulcan's body hitting the bunk vibrated through the room. He collapsed in a heap on the deck. Choking, T'Pol tried to ram her knee into Jowan's groin. He twisted and deflected her effort, slamming her against the bulkhead with overwhelming mass. The Romulan spy's free hand came back, but instead of returning to her neck he reached for the contact points on her face.

T'Pol's hands flashed up like a set of striking talons, digging deep into her attacker's eyes. He bellowed and staggered back long enough for her to suck in a lung full of air and scream, "_SECURITY!_"

Jowan snarled and shook his head, blinking blood. He braced himself and started to charge again when a phase pistol blast caught him in the side and knocked him off course. "Commander," a human voice yelled, "get down!"

T'Pol let her knees buckle, and she curled up at the base of the bulkhead. The two guards stood in the open hatchway, taking aim. As Jowan lunged, both of them fired simultaneously, the two beams intersecting at the huge man's head. He stopped cold and weaved an instant. Then he collapsed like a falling tree, stone dead. Not even a Vulcan brain could take the force of two phase stun beams at point blank range.

Lieutenant Burke knelt beside T'Pol while her partner checked Solis. "I am intact," T'Pol assured the anxious security officer. "Your assistance is appreciated." She refused the offer of help to stand up, and walked over to see about the surviving Vulcan officer.

Solis stopped rubbing his eyes long enough to look up at T'Pol. Even though he'd recovered his equilibrium, she could clearly read the shock on his face. The tableau was broken by the whistle of the intercom.

"_Bridge to Commander T'P__ol. Commander Tucker calling. He says it's urgent." _

T'Pol pressed her lips together. At the back of her mind she could feel Trip. Now that the distractions had passed she could also feel his emotional state. Her husband was going to scold her over this, she just knew it.

#

In defiance of probability, the wedding preparations were completed with 0.4 hours to spare. The women were universally radiating an air of self-satisfaction. The males were universally radiating relief. As the time loomed closer, Sehlra, Damin, Jenrali, and the rest of both families gradually showed up and were conscripted to assist. Everyone except Daniel and T'Riss were put to work. The principals were herded off in opposite directions and strictly ordered to stay put until called for.

Finally the priest was in position and the observers were assembled. The groom took up the hammer and struck the gong in the center of the courtyard.

Senek stood well back and observed the proceedings with the thoroughness of long habit. Both of the Andorians wore expressions that, coupled with the position of their antennae, indicated satisfaction. The bride's parents were standing with properly impassive faces, watching their daughter walk toward her Human bondmate. Somehow Senek was unable to believe that they were actually as undisturbed as they presented themselves, but it was not his business. The groom's Vulcan family seemed considerably more pleased with the situation, as was only logical. For Daniel to marry a Vulcan was no doubt the best possible outcome as far as his adopted clan was concerned.

Daniel struck the gong a final time. "Kal-i-farr!" He waited calmly.

Senek considered the recent past and realized that the boy likely would have stood just as calmly had he known that a challenger stood waiting to step forward. He was a remarkable young man in many ways.

T'Riss paced forward with slow dignity. Her gown, in concession to her husband's culture, was pure white to show that she had never been married before. Senek had no need of telepathy to detect the joy that she was radiating.

The pair knelt in front of the priest. The ceremony began with an unusual but not inappropriate ceremony. Humans apparently exchanged rings as an outward symbol of the marriage union. The solid platinum bands were unobtrusive and almost Vulcan in simplicity. The words were equally straightforward. Although Vulcan wedding ceremonies usually did not involve spoken vows, the words Daniel so clearly recited in ceremonial Vulcan—and T'Riss's softer response, blended seamlessly into the ceremony as if they'd been written for the occasion.

"With this ring, I thee wed."

After the exchange the pair touched fingers in the ozh'esta. Senek's mind was swept back through the years to the day when he had pressed his fingers against those of his own bride. Despite the decades that had passed, he could still smell the incense and see the light in her eyes...

He closed his eyes and recited the disciplines. Such indulgence was inappropriate. The past was done. The present was all the mattered, so that the future could be built securely.

The priest placed his hands on the temples of the betrothed pair and concentrated briefly. Then he made the ritual announcement that a mating bond already existed, and declared the pair before him to be husband and wife.

Indefinable tension flowed out of the watching group. As people began to separate into pairs and trios for conversation, Senek noticed Llahir touch Raijiin's arm and urge her toward the priest. He felt a sharp jolt of surprise through the handler's bond between them and moved in protectively.

"We wish to be married as well." Llahir's words clarified the emotional storm that Raijiin was starting to radiate. Her reaction was strong enough to cause curious looks from the Vulcans.

Senek suddenly realized something. His telepathic handler's link with Raijiin would probably be detectable by Llahir once the ceremony was finished. It was too late to say anything now. He winced internally and hoped that Llahir wouldn't kill him before he had time to explain.

#

Raijiin clenched her hands together, trying to stop their trembling. It was like a landslide. She had been waiting tensely for this moment. Now, it was suddenly here in a shocking instant.

The thought of refusing or asking Llahir to wait never occurred to her. A husband of her own? Perhaps even a home someday? Nothing was going to stop her from seizing this chance. It was the culmination of a lifetime of dreaming.

The second ceremony was a good deal more abbreviated. Neither of them had family present, so the preliminary rituals could be ignored. The courtyard was already prepared and the priest was present and agreeable. Risan law was quite flexible about such things, particularly regarding off-worlders marrying each other. She knelt opposite Llahir and offered him her fingers, feeling alternating waves of fire and ice crashing back and forth in her blood. The trembling would not stop. She did manage to sink her teeth deep enough into her tongue to prevent any embarrassing sounds.

Raijiin closed her eyes and reached deep when she felt the priest touch her temple. This was critically important. Even after the time she'd already spent with Llahir, she did not have enough experience with his unique mental differences to be sure of establishing a permanent link with him unassisted. But the priest knew what he was doing, and Llahir's instinctive hunger guided her as well. In an instant it was over. They were joined. They were one.

She opened her eyes and saw her bonded mate looking back at her. The priest took each of their wrists in his hands and forced them apart, but the connection remained. She couldn't stop the tears this time, and didn't try. Llahir's presence in her mind was a blaze of heat and possessive strength. His head came up. His nostrils flared. Her core felt molten; her knees shook. She was his for life. The realization was exhilarating, and she smiled through her tears. Dimly, she heard a gasp of shocked surprise from a few of the witnesses, but she couldn't maintain a Vulcan façade, not now. She'd have to deal with the consequences later.

Llahir rose to his feet and extended two fingers. She rose and completed the ozh'esta, for his sake pulling the tattered remnants of her Vulcan persona together. Her expression sobered and they turned to face the other occupants of the room. T'Riss stood beside her new husband in a similar pose. Her parents and Daniel's family weren't looking at their newly wedded relations, though. Everyone in the room had their eyes on Llahir and Raijiin.

Suddenly Llahir's head jerked toward Senek, who was standing in the back of the room with a stoic expression on his face. Raijiin both saw and felt the moment when Llahir sensed the barely perceptible thread of her handler's bond. Senek had shut down the link as thoroughly as he was able, but it still shone at the periphery of her awareness like an unbreakable metallic thread, leashing her to the older Vulcan agent as thoroughly as a slave bracelet and chain. Llahir's lip curled, and his fury filled her mind. She reached for him in an attempt to restrain him, but he pushed her aside and stalked over to Senek to confront him face to face, male to male. Had a blade been available, Raijiin was certain that it would now be at Senek's throat. As it was, Llahir's tone of voice was equally cutting.

"Release her," he growled softly. "She is _mine._"

Senek faced him squarely. "We should take this inside," he warned.

_Of course,_ thought Raijiin. The existence of handler's bonds was classified information. No one else in the courtyard had sufficient clearance to witness their confrontation. She placed a gentle hand on her new husband's forearm.

"Please," she begged in a barely audible whisper. "We must do this elsewhere."

Llahir's jaw clenched. His nod was jerky. He waved a hand at Senek, directing him to lead the way, and followed with Raijiin's forearm securely in his grasp. She accompanied them willingly into the building, her heart pounding in trepidation. The door closed behind them, practically in the faces of the curious wedding party.

The problem had to be addressed. It had been unwise of her not to broach the subject earlier, but Llahir had surprised her with the wedding and its resultant marriage bond. The prospect of getting married _now—_not eventually, not at some point in the future, but _immediately_—had driven everything else out of her head.

"This…_bond..._you have with my wife_,_" rasped Llahir grimly to Senek. "It is an abomination."

Senek raised a brow at him. "Did your new wife fail to inform you that she is a wanted felon? Our agreement with Starfleet specifies that she be under constant surveillance. You know very well that mechanical surveillance is insufficient for a telepath and that Security Directorate protocol requires that she be mentally linked to an active agent at all times," he explained with forced patience. "This precaution was part of our custody agreement with Starfleet. Any violation of our agreed upon conditions gives Starfleet the right to take her back. Would you prefer that she be living in a Human penal colony? " Senek didn't appear in the least concerned, but Raijiin could detect a trace of apprehension from him. Did he think that Llahir was unaware of her legal status? That he would become violent when he discovered it? To her astonishment, Llahir gave a dry chuckle.

"That is hardly a likely scenario," he said. His face sobered. A chill went through her at the icy anger permeating their bond. "I would not permit it." He released her arm and stepped up to Senek, toe-to-toe and glaring. "Just as I will not permit you this obscenity," he growled from between clenched teeth. "She is bonded to me. I will be her handler. You will release her. I will discipline her should discipline be required." Raijjin stared at him wide-eyed. What had she gotten herself into?

"I hardly think that the Security Directorate will trust you to keep one of the most dangerous telepaths in the sector under control," scoffed Senek. "Not only are you the least telepathically talented Vulcan I have ever met, but you are officially retired and emotionally compromised." He shook his head. "It's quite obvious to me that Raijiin has you under her spell, and yet you apparently have no idea of the danger you're in."

"I trust my wife completely," countered Llahir in a dry voice. He reached out and grasped the front of Senek's shirt in both fists, lifting the shorter man up to his toes. Senek's face finally showed a modicum of alarm. "_You_, on the other hand, are the one that has no idea…"

"Please, Llahir. Don't hurt him," interrupted Raijiin. She laid a hand on his corded forearm. Tears clouded her vision. "He's right. The Security Directorate will never agree to what you suggest," she admitted to him. "I'm sorry. This is my fault. I should have told you." Llahir turned his head to look her in the eyes. She could feel his determination in their newly forged connection. He smiled a tight, feral smile, and then turned back to Senek, both fists still twisted into the older man's shirt.

"This is what we will do, then," Llahir said in a decisive tone. "I will enter active service again. You will break your bond with Raijiin and form a handler's bond with _me._" Rajiin felt her jaw drop as she stared at him. "You will have access to her mind through me via my bond with her, or not at all."

"Llahir! No!" protested Raijiin. "He'd have control of you whenever he desired it, perhaps even without you realizing it! "

Llahir ignored her, his eyes fixed on Senek's face. To Raijiin's horror, Senek seemed to be seriously considering the proposal. Llahir released him then, and stepped back with his arms crossed over his chest, waiting.

"I will not, of course, influence you in any way unless it is a matter of life or death," Senek vowed in a wary tone. "Your talents are much too valuable to us. It would make little sense for me to cloud your thinking during a mission with attempts at mental control. You may trust me in that regard." He eyed Llahir with a doubtful expression. "But you will require some training if you plan to act as a conduit between telepaths. Raijiin and I could damage you permanently unless you are properly trained."

Llahir turned back to Raijiin. She shook her head at him. _Why? _

His scarred face held a peculiarly tender expression. _It is the only way to protect you, _said his voice in her head, surprising her by his ability to respond without physical contact. Apparently her efforts to ensure a permanent link between them had been more successful than she'd anticipated.

"Then teach me. I am ready," he said aloud. His tone brooked no argument. Raijiin realized only then how much of a challenge she now faced being married to the man. Fortunately, she quite enjoyed a good challenge.

#

Trip left Damin in sickbay and hot-footed it to his cabin. He was starving, filthy, and exhausted, but his first priority lay in ascertaining first-hand, preferably with both hands at once, that T'Pol was all right. After that he hadn't decided whether he was going to kiss her in relief or kill her for doing something so all-fired stupid. With those goals in mind it took him less than fifteen minutes to shower, shave and change and only five minutes to make his way to T'Pol's door. He could feel her in his head the whole time. She wasn't worried anymore, just impatient. Before he had the chance to ring the bell she opened the door, hauled him in by one sleeve, and shut the door behind them. A second later she was in his arms. He forgot all about being hungry and tired and wrapped both arms around her.

T'Pol molded her body against him with a quiet, heartfelt sigh of relief and squeezed the breath out of him. Trip opened his mouth to say something to her about her recklessness, but all he had time for was an inarticulate moan before her lips covered his. Their fevered heat and velvety softness put every other thought from his mind. The clean clothes he'd just put on came right back off again, closely followed by T'Pol's robe, which, as it turned out, was her only garment. He quickly decided to skip the argument and go straight to making up. The glorious feel of T'Pol's skin beneath his hands, her soft sounds of love, her wide, liquid brown eyes fixed on his face as he pleasured her—these became, in that moment, the most important things in the universe.

#

Damin approached his mother's sickbed. The ship's captain and chief security officer hung back, with the Denobulan doctor standing between them. Damin could sense wariness from the three of them, but the officers' weapons remained holstered. He had not expected trust on such short acquaintance, but at least they didn't seem poised to immediately shoot him if he made a wrong move. It was a relief. Not having to be concerned about being shot in the back always made a task much easier.

Damin turned his attention to the sallow-faced woman in the bed, trying to remain objective. She was a prisoner he'd been hired to interrogate, not the woman who'd borne him. And definitely not the woman who'd tortured him by alternately granting and withholding her affection, the one individual he'd striven in vain to please for virtually every waking moment of his life.

Sienae was hooked to a tube-feeding device and an intravenous fluid infusion. Her head was wrapped, but the dressing was clean and fresh. She'd lost weight, a consequence of being unconscious for several weeks, he was certain, and not a reflection of maltreatment judging from the excellent medical care she was receiving. Damin stepped to her bedside and lifted his hands, pausing to collect his thoughts for a moment before initiating the meld.

The captain had told him of the Romulan spy aboard ship and his attempts to break the shield Damin had planted inside his mother's mind, a shield installed by her order many years before for the express purpose of preventing what the spy had tried to do. The man was dead now, killed only moments before Damin had arrived on board during an ill-advised attempt at interrogation by the ship's second in command. It was a pity that there had been no opportunity to turn him. He would have been a useful ally once given an attitude adjustment. The man had obviously been a very powerful telepath if he'd been able to force Sienae into this state. Her mind was conditioned to shut down in this way only in the case of a grave threat to the integrity of the shield.

It was all such a terrible waste. She'd known so much that could have been of use to the Coalition, and now, providing his shield had functioned in the way that it was intended to function, all of it was probably gone. The shield was not designed to protect the integrity of the consciousness behind it; it only protected the information within that consciousness by destroying the mind behind it, leaving the body behind to lead the interrogator into futile and resource-wasting efforts to break through the shield. Had he told the Humans this, Damin felt certain that he would not have been believed. He was going to have to show them.

Damin steeled himself. For a Romulan death was of little concern, but he was not Romulan, at least not entirely, and the body on the bed was still that of his mother. He extended a hand with fingers splayed, gingerly made contact, closed his eyes, and sent out a cautious probe. Her shield was intact, an impermeable and featureless barrier preventing any contact he might have made with her thoughts, but he knew how to get in through the back door. Going rooting around in her mind felt more than just a little ghoulish, assuming that it was now destroyed, but he searched for the entry point he'd implanted anyway. He forced a mental image of _the door _into her unresponsive mind and finally found the place he was searching for.

Massive, metallic, and windowless, the imaginary door's substantial twin had hung at the entrance to a tiny chamber in their home back on Romulus, a chamber where he'd spent an inordinate amount of time during his formative years. His mother's methods of discipline had included incarceration without food and water for days in a cell too small to lie down fully upon the floor, but the thick rocky walls of the chamber had ended up fortuitously shielding him from her twisted thoughts. It had become a refuge from her anger, a place of peace. Damin reached out a figurative hand to the figurative latch and opened the door.

Behind it, as he'd expected, was nothing. No secrets. Not even any unconscious thoughts. Her heart was still beating; she was even still breathing on her own, but his mother was dead. For a moment relief was all he was capable of—relief and guilt. He'd killed her, or rather, his shield design had. But he refused to allow the woman to cause him any more pain. She'd commissioned the shield, had guided him in its design, had insisted that it do precisely what it did so well. So she was the one responsible.

Ending what remained of her life would be so easy—a tweak of her autonomic system right _there _and her heart would stop. It was the merciful thing to do, but his mother had not taught him mercy. It would be justifiable revenge, but he'd learned over the years that revenge did nothing but cause trouble. And her death during a meld with him would anger his current employers. The Humans would pay well for his services in the war to come. It wouldn't be very intelligent to antagonize them. So he opened his eyes, ended the meld, and lowered his hand to his side.

Damin gazed down upon the shell of his mother. The stomach-twisting mixture of hatred, fearful respect, and fervent need to please that he'd always felt in her presence didn't apply to this thing before him. He was finally free.

Above his head a high-pitched beeping began to sound. The Denobulan doctor elbowed him briskly out of the way and busied himself at her bedside. Damin felt a touch on his shoulder. He turned to face a stern-looking Lieutenant Reed. The captain of _Enterprise _stood behind him with his arms crossed over his chest and an expectant look on his face.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen, but her mind is gone," Damin told them with a helpless gesture. "It was too late the moment a powerful enough telepath attempted to breach her shield." Archer and Reed exchanged a startled look.

"You mean all this time she's been…" Archer began.

"Brain dead," finished Damin with a grimace and a nod.

"Not precisely," put in Phlox. "If she were brain dead she'd require respiratory support. The dysfunction was confined to her cerebral cortex. Her brainstem function was intact until just a few seconds ago." He gestured at the monitor above her bed. "But now her autonomic control is beginning to deteriorate." He gave Damin a suspicious look. Damin realized that he'd better explain.

"I deactivated the shield. It was designed to support her autonomic function and fool her interrogators into thinking that her mind was still intact behind it. She won't live much longer without it, but now any telepath can confirm the fact that she's not a valid source of information," said Damin. "If you wish independent confirmation I would suggest doing so within twenty four hours." He lifted his chin and stared the three larger men down.

"Crewman Jowan said that you were the one who placed her shield, " said Reed with a challenge in his tone. "That's why we came to Risa after you."

"I did," Damin confirmed. "I implanted it at her order over fifteen years ago." The Humans knew more than Damin had suspected. This Jowan person must have been Tal Shiar.

"I thought you told me that Commander Sienae wanted you dead when we first met. How could she trust you enough to let you into her head one minute and then want to kill you the next?" asked Reed.

Damin smiled a wry smile and shrugged. "She was a psychopath," he said.

Archer's arms were still crossed over his chest. He jerked his chin at Phlox. "Tell him," he told the doctor.

"Crewman Jowan told us something else about you," said Phlox. "He said that you're half-Romulan… and that this is your mother. My analysis confirms this." Damin didn't deny it. There was no point. He sighed. There was no reason to conceal anything now.

"If I weren't fully committed to being your ally I would have killed her outright," he told them. "She was a cruel and heartless bitch, but no Romulan would want to remain alive in her condition."

Reed tipped his head at that, as if it made good sense to him. Archer still wasn't satisfied.

Damin paused, considering his response. "She was a low-level member of the Tal Shiar with delusions of grandeur, a blood-thirsty sadist, and the commander of one of the smaller and more expendable stealth vessels in the Empire…take your pick," he told them. He hesitated. "And, yes, she was also my mother." He shrugged, "I betrayed her when I left the Tal Shiar. She wasn't very big on forgiveness."

#

Trip lay on his back staring at the ceiling, trying to breathe. The sweat coating both of their bodies had begun to dry, and T'Pol shivered. He forced himself to move, capturing the blanket from the edge of the bed between his feet and dragging it up to within reach. Then he pulled it over both of them and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug, pulling her against him back to front. They were both half-asleep. The bond vibrated with sensual satisfaction, but something still niggled at him. He truly hated to rock the boat, but T'Pol's risky behavior had to be addressed.

"_Might as well do it now,"_ he reflected. _"There won't be a calmer time."_

"You're a hypocrite, you know," he murmured. His tone wasn't accusing, merely stating a fact.

T'Pol wiggled her hips, tucking herself more firmly against him and provoking an inevitable response. "What have I done to displease you now?" she asked sleepily.

Trip sighed and smiled a wry smile into the top of her head. With some difficulty he kept his focus on the question at hand. "How many times have you tried to shield me? How many times have you lied to me, by omission if nothing else, because you thought you were trying to keep me safe? How many times have you preached, and even ranted, about how it was your job to protect me because you're my mate?" She went still in his arms. He could sense her disquiet in the bond. "But you did it anyway," he went on. He couldn't keep the anger out of his voice. "You put yourself in danger with _no thought _of how I might feel about it." His grip around her tightened. He squeezed with all of his strength, tighter than he would have dared with a Human woman. She was strong, he knew that, but not so strong that she was immune from all harm. "Dammit, T'Pol! You nearly _died!_"

She turned and buried her face in his neck. He felt her lips moving against his skin as she softly replied, "I acknowledge that confronting the prisoners alone was not the optimum course of action." Her formal words belied the contrition that filled his mind, pounding in waves through the bond, mixed with her love for him. He stroked her hair. She wrapped both arms around his neck, pressed her warm nude body desperately against him and insinuated one smooth leg between both of his. Trip closed his eyes in relief. She was truly sorry. Maybe—just maybe—it meant that she wouldn't do it again. He could only hope.

"Thank you," he breathed. Then he pulled back from her embrace, laced the fingers of one hand in the hair on the back of her head, and tugged until she released him. Their eyes met. His face was serious, his voice stern when he said, "But fair warning, T'Pol. The next time you take an idiotic risk like that, especially when there's no real reason for it, I'm going to harass and berate you about it for the next fifty years." He made a fist in her hair and tugged once for emphasis. "I mean it." Her eyes were wide, her breathing rapid. He could sense her arousal, but he ignored it. The fact that she liked it when he was a little rough with her was beside the point right now. "Do you believe me?"

She winced, her chest heaving—another distraction he ignored. "I believe you."

"I mean it," he warned. "At least once a day, every day, until I am too old and senile to remember my own name, I will bring it up and chew you out for it. That is a solemn oath."

"I said I believe you, husband." She didn't fight him, even though he knew she was perfectly capable of it. Instead she pressed her head back into his hand, baring her vulnerable neck. The action only served to push more delectable portions of her anatomy against his bare chest. Maintaining his grip on her hair, he reached out with his free hand to trace a finger lightly along the tense muscles on the left side of her neck and down to her delicate looking collarbone. T'Pol's eyes remained fixed on his, her breathing rapid. "I will extend my best effort to avoid such behavior in the future. At minimum, I will avoid it unless the situation is critical, and I will attempt to discuss it with you beforehand whenever possible."

"Fair enough." Trip told her, biting his lip. His hand reached the upper curve of her breast. It was getting very difficult for him to maintain his focus. "And I'll try to avoid jumping straight into crazy stupid dangerous situations unless I think I really should. I'll also try to tell you first whenever it's conveniently possible." He smiled sweetly and cupped one golden breast in the palm of his hand. He flicked the nipple once with his thumb.

She closed her eyes, her lips moist and parted. "Point taken," she said with a gasp. "I will do my best."

He kissed her while her eyes were still closed, unable to resist taking advantage of her position of abject surrender. T'Pol moaned and fervently returned his kiss. They were both most pleasantly distracted for some time afterwards.

Trip came up for air long enough to ask a question. "Would you mind if I didn't resign my commission just yet? I'm only starting to get used to this bunk."

Her eyes widened. He felt her sudden fierce joy in the bond, and suddenly he was flat on his back, pinned to the bunk by a double armful of happy, naked Vulcan.

#

Sehlra stood at near-attention in the embarkation lounge of the Risa City Spaceport, her face fixed in her best attempt at Vulcan social politeness—in other words, expressionless. She was at the end of her rope with these people. The reception had been an exercise in painful social correctness. The parents had even refused to dance. Daniel had been forced to take T'Riss's hand and dance with her alone under their disapproving eyes, at least until Jenrali had taken pity on him and pulled Sehlra on to the dance floor. Stern and Jara had followed, awkwardly but with good will. The parents still hadn't budged.

_Vulcans must be the most terminally stubborn beings in the known universe._

T'Riss stood beside Sehlra watching the departing Vulcan wedding party walk toward the waiting shuttle. Her face was very slightly but noticeably wistful. Daniel had at least had the opportunity to shake Stern's hand and to give his foster sister a brief, hesitantly reciprocated hug. There had been no embraces for T'Riss, even though it was entirely possible that it would be years before she would see her parents again. As far as Sehlra was concerned, the ta'al was a Mother-cursed poor substitute for a goodbye hug.

"You and Daniel have plans, girl?" she asked in a brusque voice. T'Riss blinked. After a second or two she turned to Sehlra.

"He wishes to leave our quarters aboard ship and stay in a hotel for an entire week," she replied in a slightly baffled tone. "I told him that it is an unnecessary expense, but he seems insistent on following this Human custom of…ah… 'sugar moon'?"

Daniel chuckled as he approached them after completing his farewells. "That's 'honeymoon', sweetheart….," he laughed, "…and I guarantee you'll like it." Sehlra bit back a grin. She made a shooing motion with both hands.

"Off with you, then. Jenrali and I will expect you back in seven days at 0800 precisely, ready to work," she announced. They didn't have to be told twice.

Sehlra watched them walk side by side—T'Riss hadn't quite gotten to the point where she was comfortable with public handholding, but their shoulders were practically touching—down the sidewalk in front of the spaceport in the direction of the largest luxury hotel in Risa City. Her vision went cloudy for a moment. Then she blinked and pulled herself together.

_You've got an appointment, woman_, she reminded herself, and started walking in the opposite direction. When she reached the entrance to the Betazoid embassy she felt him. Damin had been aboard the Human vessel. His task was apparently completed there because he was very close now, meeting her here as promised. She felt her face soften in an involuntary smile. She did love a man who kept his promises.

The embassy building was glass-fronted and airy, not the sort of construction that would have been practical on her home world, but it suited both Risa and the Betazoids who occupied it. She stepped through the transparent double doors into a lobby furnished in organic-looking bent wood furniture. There was a handsome young man sitting at a desk across the room. She approached him.

"I'm here to see Ambassador Melaine."

The young Betazoid gave her a polite smile and turned his head toward the wooden door of the office behind him. A moment later it opened. Another young man gestured for her to enter without saying anything. She swallowed and walked past him into the office. There was an ordinary looking middle aged woman sitting behind a desk across the room. She was matronly, with grey streaked black hair piled on top of her head, not at all the type Sehlra had expected. But then, what exactly did the head of a planet-wide crime syndicate look like? She'd never met one until today.

Damin was standing in front of the desk. He tipped his head to the woman, who looked back at him for several seconds before gesturing to Sehlra to approach. The silent communication between them all was unnerving. She joined Damin at the desk. He smiled at her, and the expression in his dark eyes made her forget her discomfort.

"I'm pleased to see that you've regained your freedom from the Risa City police, Lieutenant U'len," said Melaine aloud. Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Damin tells me that you have chosen him and that you are interested in joining us." Her smile vanished. "Unfortunately, I have reservations about that. It took months to set Damin up as bait with the Romulans, to make them think that he was persona non grata with us so that he would be allowed close enough to collect information from the owner of Woodhaven House, and you almost blew the entire operation with your misguided rescue attempt. How can I accept you as a member of the family if I can't trust you not to behave stupidly?"

Sehlra blinked back at her. _Months? _Her gaze flew to Damin, who grimaced apologetically.

"I'm sorry, Sehlra. I didn't know either," he said. And that's when Sehlra got mad.

"So… let me get this straight," she said with icy calmness to the woman in front of her. "You deliberately set Damin up as a target for this sting of yours _without his permission?_"

"Damin is part of this family," replied Melaine with equal coolness. "He does what he is told…as you must if you decide to join us." Her smile returned. Oddly, it held a bit more warmth, as if she approved of Sehlra's protective attititude. "I assure you that there are benefits as well as responsibilities associated with membership …if you're still interested. We take care of our own."

Sehlra bit back an angry retort. She met Damin's eyes. They entreated her to keep her temper. For his sake, she kept a lid on it. "Like you took care of Damin?" she retorted.

Melaine smiled broadly. "Exactly so. He's alive and well, isn't he? And very wealthy now." She sounded very satisfied with herself. Sehlra turned to Damin for an explanation. He shrugged and grimaced sheepishly.

"You're looking at the new owner of Woodhaven House. Melaine bought it and signed the deed to the property over to me just a minute ago," he said. He smiled. "Share it with me?" he begged, his dark eyes wide and pleading.

Sehlra sighed shook her head. The man was irresistible. It just wasn't fair. She turned back to Melaine.

"I'll take your vow on one condition. I want to be informed first. No more secret machinations involving Damin or myself. You will tell us not only what and when, but _why._" Sehlra paused and glanced once at Damin's hopeful face. "And then I will obey without question," she conceded. Melaine beamed maternally. Sehlra gritted her teeth. Then Damin reached out, took her hand, and smiled at her. She could sense no attempts at mental persuasion from him at all, but suddenly her decision felt profoundly _right. _She smiled back.

#

Namala sat in her office, looking out through the window at the sunset with a glass of golden wine in her hand. She normally didn't drink before dinner, but it wasn't a normal day. Arithnae was in custody, the future of Woodhaven house, and thus her own future, was in complete disarray, and nearly half of her staff had quit. She couldn't blame them. It wasn't as if she had anything for them to do—or even any money to pay them, for that matter.

The ones who'd left were the newest hires. There apparently hadn't been time to gain their loyalty. She wished them well, although she would definitely miss the new butler. Captain Jenrali Sefroth was the most appealing man she'd met in a very long time, and not just because of that stupid uniform.

The entry bell sounded, and Namala sighed. Opening the door fell to her, since Jemma was in the kitchen preparing dinner, Callen was in the garage changing the oil in the car, Karin was tidying the house, and old Mateo was weeding the vegetable garden. She was comfortable, though, and didn't particularly want to get up.

The entry bell sounded again. She levered herself up out of the chair, wine in hand, and walked into the entrance hall. Through the cut glass panes on either side of the door she caught sight of a familiar figure with a bouquet of flowers in one hand, and her heart skipped a beat. What in the world was the man doing here?

She set her wine glass on the table in the entrance hall and gave her appearance a quick once-over in the mirror on the wall. She looked like she always did, efficient and neat in her blazer and slacks, with her hair caught in a bun at the nape of her neck. _Oh well, it can't be helped, _she thought.

And then, without really considering what she was doing, she reached back, pulled her hair out of its confinement, and shook her head. Grey-streaked golden waves fell past her shoulders. The wine had given her cheeks a flush. She bit at her lips to redden them, and then turned to answer the door.

Captain Sefroth was wearing civilian clothes, a slim-cut dark grey sport coat over a crisp white shirt with pleated tan slacks that showed off his trim muscular form to great advantage. In one hand he held a half-dozen long-stemmed red Risan roses. He smiled at her with an air of confidence.

"Good evening, Mistress Namala. May I come in?"

Namala smiled a bemused smile and stepped back to let him into the house.

End of Series


End file.
